What release to write so that one forgets oneself, forgets one's companion, forgets where one is or what one is going to do next to be drenched in sleep or in the sea. Pencils and pads and curling blue sheets alive with letters heap up on the desk.

People talk about love as if it were something you could give, like an armful of flowers.

life itself is always pulling you away from the understanding of life.

I do not like talking casually to people - it does not interest me - and most of them are unwilling to talk at all seriously.

If one talks to more than four people, it is an audience; and one cannot really think or exchange thoughts with an audience.

Forsythia is pure joy. There is not an ounce, not a glimmer of sadness or even knowledge in forsythia. Pure, undiluted, untouched joy.

Those fields of daisies we landed on, and dusty fields and desert stretches. Memories of many skies and earths beneath us - many days, many nights of stars.