When one jumps over the edge, one is bound to land somewhere.

For my part, I prefer my heart to be broken. It is so lovely, dawn-kaleidoscopic within the crack.

And that is how we are. By strength of will we cut off our inner intuitive knowledge from admitted consciousness. This causes a state of dread, or apprehension, which makes the blow ten times worse when it does fall.

The soul is a very perfect judge of her own motions, if your mind doesn't dictate to her.

The war is dreadful. It is the business of the artist to follow it home to the heart of the individual fighters - not to talk in armies and nations and numbers - but to track it home.

So long as you don't feel life's paltry and a miserable business, the rest doesn't matter, happiness or unhappiness.

I believe that a man is converted when first he hears the low, vast murmur of life, of human life, troubling his hitherto unconscious self.