He judged the instant and let go; he flung himself loose into the stars.

Having chosen this foolishness, I was a free being. How could the world ever stop me, how could I betray myself, if I was not afraid?

The creative process obtains in all creative acts. So if I'm painting suddenly I'll see something that I didn't see before.

Writers serve as the memory of a people. They chew over our public past.

We live half our waking lives and all of our sleeping lives in some private, useless, and insensible waters we never mention or recall.

Nature is, above all, profligate. Don't believe them when they tell you how economical and thrifty nature is, whose leaves return to the soil. Wouldn't it be cheaper to leave them on the tree in the first place? This deciduous business alone is a radical scheme, the brainchild of a deranged manic-depressive with limitless capital. Extravagance! Nature will try anything once.

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