Can anyone alter fate? All of us combined... or one great figure... or someone strategically placed$$$ who happens to be in the right spot. Chance. Accident. And our lives$$$ our world$$$ hanging on it.
The mentally disturbed do not employ the Principle of Scientific Parsimony: the most simple theory to explain a given set of facts. They shoot for the baroque.
Saying nothing sometimes says the most.
The only security of all is in a free press.
I'd rather be dead than singing 'Satisfaction' when I'm 45.
Life is the flower for which love is the honey.
Prose is architecture$$$ not interior decoration.
Everyone is the other and no one is himself.
Poetry is a game of loser-take-all.
There's all the difference in the world between having something to say$$$ and having to say something.