Nobody can have the soul of me. My mother has had, and nobody can have it again. Nobody can come into my very self again, and breathe me like an atmosphere.

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

The great living experience for every man is his adventure into the woman. The man embraces in the woman all that is not himself, and from that one resultant, from that embrace, comes every new action.

He felt he had lost it for good, he knew what it was to have been in communication with her, and to be cast off again. In misery, his heart like a heavy stone, he went about unliving.

Not that the Red Indian will ever possess the broad lands of America. At least I presume not. But his ghost will.

Now man cannot live without some vision of himself. But still less can he live with a vision that is not true to his inner experience and inner feeling.

I think New Mexico was the greatest experience from the outside world that I have ever had.