“I'm looking for the binding energy of a look
a crop of reflections to be reaped
in a winter of thorn
when icebergs of illusion will melt
to be served at high tea
and the spaces between the poles pinned down”

“See, I'm looking for a man that'll rub me slow, make me sing real high when he goes down low.”

“Look at this tangle of thorns.”

“I would… earnestly advise them for their good to order this paper to be punctually served up, and to be looked upon as a part of the tea equipage.”

“a sky of clouds completely 'out of the blue'… I'm looking, reflecting, and when it suddenly happens: hey, the clouds, and what clouds!”

“Surely a pretty woman never looks prettier than when making tea.”

“Life is a space between two illusions: Birth and Death…”

“There was a white man sitting at the kitchen table, warming his hands by wrapping them around a hot cup of tea. He had kind of an oblong face, curly red hair piled on top, a close-cropped but dense red beard, shocking blue eyes that always looked wide open. He face was ruddy with the outdoors, and the way he was sitting there with that tea, he looked so calm, so centered, almost like he was in meditation. When I came in, he looked at me and smiled just a trace, without showing his teeth…”

“I never wear flats. My shoes are so high that sometimes when I step out of them, people look around in confusion and ask, "Where'd she go?" and I have to say, "I'm down here.”

“Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth.”