It wasn't a thing I had consciously missed, but having it now reminded me of the joy of it; that drowsy intimacy in which a man's body is accessible to you as your own, the strange shapes and textures of it like a sudden extension of your own limbs.

If it keeps up man will atrophy all his limbs but the push-button finger.

I don't measure a man's success by how high he climbs but how high he bounces when he hits bottom.

O sweet delusive Noon Which the morning climbs to find O moment sped too soon And morning left behind.

Nobody climbs mountains for scientific reasons. Science is used to raise money for the expeditions but you really climb for the hell of it.

When you love a man he becomes more than a body. His physical limbs expand and his outline recedes vanishes. He is rich and sweet and right. He is part of the world the atmosphere the blue sky and the blue water.

Sorrow is a fruit. God does not make it grow on limbs too weak to bear it.

People have a fear of the unknown. Insects have different senses than us different amount of limbs and their body structure is very different. It's hard for us to really relate to them and understand them.

Constantly risking absurdity and death whenever he performs above the heads of his audience the poet like an acrobat climbs on rhyme to a high wire of his own making.

Art is not the application of a canon of beauty but what the instinct and the brain can conceive beyond any canon. When we love a woman we don't start measuring her limbs.