When I stand at the top of the Champs-Elysées, with its chestnut trees in flower, its undulations of shining cars, its white spaciousness, I feel as if I were biting into a utopian fruit, something velvety and lustrous and rich and vivid.

Dreams are essential to life.

The shell is America's most active contribution to the formation of character. A tough hide. Grow it early.

In New York the acoustics are good for laughter, for life is all external, all action, no thought, no meditation, no dreaming, no reflection, only the exuberance of action.

Innocence was gone from all our acts. Our habitual state of rebellion became a serious political crime.

Life is a full circle, widening until it joins the circle motions of the infinite.

I sleep with my feet on moss carpets, my branches in the cotton of the clouds.