“I maintain that the greatest crime committed by America - with the possible exception of the carpet-bombing of Laos - was the Disneyfication of Winnie The Pooh.”

“The fructe of all the servise that I serveDispaire doth repe, such haples hap have I ;But tho he have no powre to make me swarve,Yet by the fire for colde I fele I dye :In paradis for hunger still I sterve :And in the flowde for thurste to deth I drye ;So Tantalus ane I and yn worse payne,Amyds my helpe, and helples doth remayne.”

“Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,But as for me, hélas, I may no more.The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,I am of them that farthest cometh behind.Yet may I by no means my wearied mindDraw from the deer, but as she fleeth aforeFainting I follow. I leave off therefore,Sithens in a net I seek to hold the wind.Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,As well as I may spend his time in vain.And graven with diamonds in letters plainThere is written, her fair neck round about:Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.”

“Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am /And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.”

“For something to become a work of art, a labeling process must take place that requires three participants: an artist who produces an apt object, a client or public, and a critic or connoisseur who mediates between the artist and the public to assure them of the artness of the thing. If I make a painting, it is not sufficient for the painting to be "art" that I consider it so, nor even that you, my friend and neighbor, admire it and hang it on your wall; it must be certified as art by competent authority and exhibited in the institutionally appropriate place, a gallery or museum.”

“Stand whoso list upon the slipper topOf court's estates, and let me here rejoiceAnd use me quiet without let or stop,Unknown in court, that hath such brackish joys.In hidden place so let my days forth passThat when my years be done withouten noise,I may die aged after the common trace.For him death grippeth right hard by the cropThat is much known of other, and of himself, alas,Doth die unknown, dazed, with dreadful face.”

“My galley, charged with forgetfulness,Thorough sharp seas in winter nights doth pass'Tween rock and rock; and eke mine enemy, alas,That is my lord, steereth with cruelness;And every oar a thought in readiness,As though that death were light in such a case.An endless wind doth tear the sail apaceOf forced sighs and trusty fearfulness.A rain of tears, a cloud of dark disdain,Hath done the weared cords great hinderance;Wreathed with error and eke with ignorance.The stars be hid that led me to this pain.Drowned is reason that should me consort,And I remain despairing of the port.”