The word love has always tasted like the scent of fresh ink and soft paper to me. Like a newly written poem.

Jealousy smells like the water in the bottom of a flower vase after the flowers have died.

Man is not to direct or to be directed anymore than a tree or a cloud or a stoneMan is not to rule or be ruled anymore than a faith or a truth or a loveMan is not to doubt or to be doubted anymore than a wave or a seed or a fireThere is no problem in living which life hasn't answered to its own needAnd we cannot direct, rule, or doubt what is beyond our highest ability to understand we can only be humble before it we can only worship ourselves because we are a part of itThe eye in the leaf is watching out of our fingersThe ear in the stone is listening through our voicesThe thought of the wave is thinking in our dreamsThe faith of the seed is building with our deaths

Warlock: Four thousand and fifty-three metric tons of inert rock, metal and organic matter, frozen solid.Quasar: Frozen in what?Drax: Time.Quasar: "Time", Drax?Drax: Uh-huh. Old, old frozen time.Quasar: Right. And that tastes like what?Drax: Regret.