I walk ahead of myself in perpetual expectancy of miracles.

The one who travels like a lover searching for a new passion is suddenly blessed with new eyes, new ears, new senses.

I have seen romanticism outlast the realistic. I have seen men forget the beautiful women they have possessed, forget the prostitutes, and remember the first woman they idolized, the woman they could never have. The woman who aroused them romantically holds them.

She makes use of the soft of the bread for a napkin. She falls asleep at times with shoes on, on unmade beds. When a little money comes in, June buys delicacies, strawberries in the winter, caviar and bath salts.

In music I feel most deeply the passing of things.

When you make a world tolerable for yourself, you make a world tolerable for others.

There is not one big cosmic meaning for all, there is only the meaning we each give to our life, an individual meaning, an individual plot, like an individual novel, a book for each person.