The bed must be a beautiful place, not only because you make love there but because you dream there as well.

I have no fear of God, and yet fear keeps me awake at night,fear of the devil. And if I believe in the devil, I must believe in God. And if evil is abhorrent to me, I must be a saint. Henry, save me from beatification, from the horrors of static perfection. Precipitate me into the inferno.

We speak of the masculine and the feminine, but they are the wrong labels. It is really more a matter of poetry versus intellectualization.

It is easy to love and there are so many ways to do it.

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.

The ivory tower of the artist may be the only stronghold left for human values, cultural treasures, man’s cult of beauty.

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