Thought is a man in his wholeness, wholly attending.

Money poisons you when you've got it, and starves you when you haven't.

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

He who gets nearer the sun is leader, the aristocrat of aristocrats, or he who, like Dostoevsky, gets nearest the moon of our non-being.

It's autumn and everybody feels like a disembodied spirit then.

For us to go to Italy and to penetrate into Italy is like a most fascinating act of self-discovery

It seems to me a purely lyric poet gives himself, right down to his sex, to his mood, utterly and abandonedly, whirls himself roundtill he spontaneously combusts into verse. He has nothing that goes on, no passion, only a few intense moods, separate like odd stars, and when each has burned away, he must die.