Once, I had a dream of fame. Generally, even then, I was lonely.

Once, Turner had himself lashed to the mast of a ship for several hours, during a furious storm, so that he could later paint the storm. Obviously, it was not the storm itself that Turner intended to paint. What he intended to paint was a representation of the storm. One's language is frequently imprecise in that manner, I have discovered.

Was it really some other person I was so anxious to discover...or was it only my own solitude that I could not abide?

I also believe I met William Gaddis once. He did not look Italian.

What do any of us ever truly know?

The morning’s recollection of the emptiness of the day before. Its anticipation of the emptiness of the day to come.

You can learn more by going to the opera than you ever can by reading Emerson. Like that there are two sexes.