The sea pronounces something, over and over, in a hoarse whisper; I cannot quite make it out.

I feel as though I stand at the foot of an infinitely high staircase, down which some exuberant spirit is flinging tennis ball after tennis ball, eternally, and the one thing I want in the world is a tennis ball.

The dear, stupid body is as easily satisfied as a spaniel.

I worked so hard all my life, and all I want to do now is read.

The mind itself is an art object ... The mind is a blue guitar on which we improvise the song of the world.

It was less like seeing than like being for the first time seen, knocked breathless by a powerful glance.

Divinity is not playful. The universe was not made in jest but in solemn incomprehensibl e earnest. By a power that is unfathomably secret, and holy, and fleet. There is nothing to be done about it, but ignore it, or see.