I wondered if she was trying to convey something to me, something she could not put into words - something prior to words that she could not grasp within herself and which therefore had no hope of ever turning into words.

I wasn't in love with her. And she didn't love me. For me the question of love was irrelevant. What I sought was the sense of being tossed about by some raging, savage force, in the midst of which lay something absolutely crucial. I had no idea what that was. But I wanted to thrust my hand right inside her body and touch it, whatever it was.

I can't understand nothingness. I can't understand it and I can't imagine it.

If you do anything out of the ordinary, you can be sure someone, somewhere, will get upset.

Symbolism and meaning are two separate things. I think she found the right words by bypassing procedures like meaning and logic. She captured words in a dream, like delicately catching hold of a butterfly’s wings as it flutters around. Artists are those who can evade the verbose.

If you're in pitch blackness, all you can do is sit tight until your eyes get used to the dark.

In his own way, he's lived life with all the intensity he could muster.