Most artists have retired too absolutely; they grow rusty, inflexible to the flow of currents.

You are the only woman who ever answered the demands of my imagination.

My life is not possible to tell. I change every day, change my patterns, my concepts, my interpretations. I am a series of moods and sensations. I play a thousand roles. I weep when I find others play them for me. My real self is unknown. My work is merely an essence of this vast and deep adventure.

The possession of knowledge does not kill the sense of wonder and mystery. There is always more mystery.

Strange, isn't it, that no chemical will give a human being the iridescence that illusions have given them? Give me your hat.

I was stirred only like a leaf in the wind, that is all. . .

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.