Daniel LiebertThinkers

The Ant is made entirely of punctuation marks.

Being alone is a condition in which I am neither young nor old—I am alone.

Clothing sends us out each day so it can meet other clothes.

The Cynic is one who tastes life, spits it out and dies of hunger.

Death is in one like rust is in iron.

A Grass blade hyphenates earth and sky.

The Hand is a clumsy courier of touch.

Here is a thing always evoking infinite elsewheres.

Insomnia is yesterday's man refusing to die.

Intoxication is becoming a child’s drawing of oneself.