Why do I doubt her? Perhaps she is just very sensitive, and hypersensitive people are false when others doubt them; they waver. And one thinks them insincere. Yet I want to believe her. At the same time it does not seem so very important that she should love me. It is not her role. I am so filled with my love of her. And at the same time I feel that I am dying. Our love would be death. The embrace of imaginings.

Memory is a great betrayer.

Music melts all the separate parts of our bodies together.

... America is the greatest humiliator in existence. It is always cultivating the power you get from humiliating others.

jazz is the expression of America's romantic self, its sensual potency, its lyrical force.

I often see how you sob over what you destroy, how you want to stop and just worship; and you do stop, and then a moment later you are at it again with a knife, like a surgeon.

We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are.