Ordinary life does not interest me. I seek only the high moments. I am in accord with the surrealists, searching for the marvelous. I want to be a writer who reminds others that these moments exist; I want to prove that there is infinite space, infinite meaning, infinite dimension. But I am not always in what I call a state of grace. I have days of illuminations and fevers. I have days when the music in my head stops. Then I mend socks, prune trees, can fruits, polish furniture. But while I am doing this I feel I am not living.

It is in the movements of emotional crisis that human beings reveal themselves most accurately.

One may gain one truth at the expense of another.

To change skins, evolve into new cycles, I feel one has to learn to discard

He understands my pity for his ridiculous, humiliating physical necessity.

Experience teaches acceptance of the imperfect as life.

the cynic is a coward. He foresees all barrenness so that barrenness can never surprise him.