Has my heart gone to sleep? Have the beehives of my dreams stopped working, the waterwheel of the mind run dry, scoops turning empty, only shadow inside? No, my heart is not asleep. It is awake, wide awake. Not asleep, not dreaming— its eyes are opened wide watching distant signals, listening on the rim of vast silence

Beware of the community in which blasphemy does not exist: underneath, atheism runs rampant.

Mankind owns four things that are no good at sea: rudder, anchor, oars and the fear of going down.

Avoid pulpits, platforms, stages and pedestals. Keep to the hard ground. It is the only way you can judge your approximate status as a man.

There is no one so bound to his own face that he does not cherish the hope of presenting another to the world.

The truly erotic sensibility, in evoking the image of woman, never omits to clothe it. The robing and disrobing: that is the true traffic of love.

Between living and dreaming there is a third thing. Guess it.