I made no resolutions for the New Year. The habit of making plans, of criticizing, sanctioning and molding my life, is too much of a daily event for me.

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

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

We efface an hour by passionate love, without twists, without aftertaste. When it is finished, it is not finished, we lie still in each other's arms lulled by our love, by tenderness -- sensuality in which the whole being can participate.

I really believe that if I were not a writer, not a creator, not an experimenter, I might have been a very faithful wife. I think highly of faithfulness. But my temperament belongs to the writer, not to the woman

I have this weird obsession about buying books and looking at them with a smile, even if I won't read them soon. At least they are mine now.

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.