Quotes from Saul Williams

I think we fool ourselves and really negate a great deal of history if we think that the oral history of poetry is shorter than the written history of poetry. It's not true. Poetry has a longer oral tradition than it does written.

The wind is the moon's imagination wandering. It seeps through cracks, ripples the grass, explores the unknown. My love is my soul's imagination.

Talk to strangers when the family fails and friends lead you astray when Buddha laughs and Jesus weeps and it turns out God is gay. 'Cause angels and messiahs love can come in many forms: in the hallways of your projects, or the fat girl in your dorm, and when you finally take the time to see what they're about perhaps you find them lonely or their wisdom trips you out.

Come, my love, we have oceans to sail.

she kissed as if she, alone, could forge the signature of the sun

intelligence is intuitive you needn't learn to love unless you've been taught to fear and hate

They say that I am a poet I wonder what they would say if they saw me from the inside I bottle emotions and place them into the sea for others to unbottle on distant shores I am unsure as to whether they ever reach and for that matter as to whether I ever get my point across or my love

she stuck a bookmark in my heart and walked away

I surrendered my beliefs and found myself at the tree of life injecting my story into the veins of leaves only to find that stories like forests are subject to seasons

We are unraveling our navels so that we may ingest the sun. We are not afraid of the darkness. We trust that the moon shall guide us. We are determining the future at this very moment. We know that the heart is the philosopher's stone. Our music is our alchemy.

The wind is the moon's imagination wandering.

She stuck a bookmark in his heart and walked away.

My love is my soul's imagination... how do I love you... imagine.

I dance for no reason, for reasons you can't dance, Call me an activist of intellectualized circumstance You can't learn my steps until you unlearn your thoughts Spirit, soul, can't be store-bought.

Books are carefully folded forests/void of autumn/bound from the sun

only through new words might new worlds be called into order

When I can feel you breathing into me i, like a stone gargoyle atop some crumbling building, spring to life a resuscitated angel.

i am like a survivor of the flood walking through the streets drenched with God surprised that all of the drowned victims are still walking and talking

I keep trying to forget, but I must remember. And gather the scattered continents of a self, once whole. Before they plant flags and boundary my destiny. Push down the watered mountains that blemish this soiled soul before the valleys of my conscience get the best of me. I'll need a passport just to simply reach the rest of me. A vaccination for a lesser god's bleak history.

My father's a preacher, my mother's a teacher, thus . . . I rhyme.

For all the ghosts and corpses that shall never know the breath of our children so long for the sacrifice and endurance of our mothers and the sustained breath of our fathers we live

Some rather seek up high Than dig and grind that inner truth

I have offered myself to the inkwell of the wordsmith that I might be shaped into new terms of being.

Fax me a fact, and I'll telegram a hologram.