All true language is incomprehensible, like the chatter of a beggar's teeth.

I have need of angels. Enough hell has swallowed me for too many years. But finally understand this--I have burned up one hundred thousand human lives already, from the strength of my pain.

If our life lacks a constant magic it is because we choose to observe our acts and lose ourselves in consideration of their imagined form and meaning, instead of being impelled by their force.

This is why true beauty never strikes us directly. The setting sun is beautiful because of all it makes us lose.

We must wash literature off ourselves. We want to be men above all, to be human.

When we speak the word 'life,' it must be understood we are not referring to life as we know it from its surface of fact, but to that fragile, fluctuating center which forms never reach.

The true theater, because it moves and makes use of living instruments, continues to stir up shadows where life has never ceased to grope its way.