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

We efface an hour by passionate love, without twists, without aftertaste. When it is finished, it is not finished, we lie still in each other's arms lulled by our love, by tenderness -- sensuality in which the whole being can participate.

Convalescence. Such an utter weakness that you lie like an animal hibernating, playing possum. You float. You are adrift. Every current is stronger than you.

jazz is the expression of America's romantic self, its sensual potency, its lyrical force.

I hate rarely, though when I hate, I hate murderously.

When we blindly adopt a religion, a political system, a literary dogma, we become automatons. We cease to grow.

Either one fails in one's art or in one's life.