We are never trapped unless we choose to be.

There is an ugliness in being paid for work one does not like.

We do not escape into philosophy, psychology, and art--we go there to restore our shattered selves into whole ones.

We three belong to the Middle Ages. We have this need of heroism, and there is no place for such feelings in modern life. That is our tragedy. Once I wanted to be a saint. It seemed the only absolute act left to do, for what is most powerful in me is the craving for purity, greatness.

Create a world, your world. Alone. Stand alone. And then love will come to you, then it comes to you.

The leaf fall of his words, the stained glass hues of his moods, the rust in his voice, the smoke in his mouth, his breath on my vision like human breath blinding a mirror.

Introspection is a devouring monster. You have to feed it with much material, much experience, many people, many places, many loves, many creations, and then it ceases feeding on you.