When others asked the truth of me, I was convinced it was not the truth they wanted, but an illusion they could bear to live with..

Why do I doubt her? Perhaps she is just very sensitive, and hypersensitive people are false when others doubt them; they waver. And one thinks them i….

I want to be a writer who reminds others that these moments exist; I want to prove that there is infinite space, infinite meaning, infinite dimension.

We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls..

Secrets. Need to disguise. The novel was born of this..

The final lesson a writer learns is that everything can nourish the writer..

We don't have a language for the senses. Feelings are images, sensations are like musical sounds..

myself ... is merely an instrument to connect life and a myth.

The fiery moments of passionate experience are the moments of wholeness and totality of the personality..

Keeping a Diary all my life helped me to discover some basic elements essential to the vitality of writing..

I have seen romanticism outlast the realistic. I have seen men forget the beautiful women they have possessed, forget the prostitutes, and remember t….

A big enough artist, I say, can eat anything, must eat everything and then alchemize it. Only the feeble writer is afraid of expansion..

The leaf fall of his words, the stained glass hues of his moods, the rust in his voice, the smoke in his mouth, his breath on my vision like human br….

I see myself wrapped in lies, which do not seem to penetrate my soul, as if they are not really a part of me. They are like costumes..

The poet is one who is able to keep the fresh vision of the child alive..

In my childhood diary I wrote: “I have decided that it is better not to love anyone, because when you love people, then you have to be separated from….

To the woman with the least intelligence, there must come, at some time or other, the realization that housework is animal work and that there are ot….

... and the very folds of the curtains contained secrets and sighs..

I am quite wiling to confide entirely in human being, except that at some moment or another human beings get preoccupied, moody, busy, inattentive, a….

I looked upon a clock to find the truth. The hours were passing like ivory chess figures, striking piano notes, and the minutes raced on wires mounte….

The self is merely the lens through which we see others and the world..