Man is the only thing that has no further use after something goes amiss.
Sleep demands of us a guilty immunity.
To love without criticism is to be betrayed.
Our bones ache only while the flesh is on them.
When one wants to become cognizant of the color and the texture of the soil, one does not get a ladder; one gets a shovel. When one wants to get into touch with the texture of the universal mind, one does not go to Boston; one goes to the Bowery.
New York rose out of the water like a great wave that found it impossible to return again and so remained there in horror, peering out of the million windows man had caged it with.