Great repressions create dualities.

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

While analyzing so many people I realized the constant need of a mother, or a father, or a god (the same thing) is really immaturity. It is a childish need, a human need, but so universal that I can see how it gave birth to all religions.

I am aware of being in a beautiful prison, from which I can only escape by writing.

Paris-New York, the two high tension magnetic poles between life, life of the senses, of the spirit in Paris, and life in action in New York.

His life rushes onward in such torrential rhythm that...only angels and devils can catch the tempo of it.

Where the myth fails, human love begins. Then we love a human being, not our dream, but a human being with flaws.