There is nothing to be learned from history anymore. We're in science fiction now.

The real America that Whitman proclaimed and Thoreau decoded.

You can't escape the past in Paris, and yet what's so wonderful about it is that the past and present intermingle so intangibly that it doesn't seem to burden.

I want to be a saint, a real saint while I am young, for there is so much work to do.

My books piled up before me for my use waiting in space where I placed them, they haven't disappeared, time's left its remnants and qualities for me to use -- my words piled up, my texts, my manuscripts, my loves.

I really believe, or want to believe, really I am nuts, otherwise I'll never be sane.

Everybody's serious but me.