The artist is the only one who knows that the world is a subjective creation, that there is a choice to be made, a selection of elements.

I want to do things so wild with you that I don't know how to say them.

I walked into my own book, seeking peace. It was night, and I made a careless movement inside the dream; I turned too brusquely the corner and I bruised myself against my madness.

There is no bleaker moment in life of the city than that one which crosses the boundary lines between those who have not slept all night and those who are going to work. It was for Sabina as if two races of men and women lived on earth, the night people and the day people, never meeting face to face except at this moment.

I don't tell the truth any more to those who can't make use of it. I tell it mostly to myself, because it always changes me.

Every individual is representative of the whole . . . and should be intimately understood, and this would give a far greater understanding of mass movements and sociology.

I am aware of being in a beautiful prison, from which I can only escape by writing.