One must be thrust out of a finished cycle in life, and that leap is the most difficult to make - to part with one's faith, one's love, when one would prefer to renew the faith and recreate the passion.

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

To think of him in the middle of the day lifts me out of ordinary living.

If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don't write, because our culture has no use for it.

Everything with me is either worship and passion or pity and understanding. I hate rarely, though when I hate. I hate murderously.

Idealism is the death of the body and the imagination. All but freedom, utter freedom, is death

New York seems conducted by jazz, animated by it. It is essentially a city of rhythm.