When you know what men are capable of you marvel neither at their sublimity nor their baseness. There are no limits in either direction apparently.

I didn't have to think up so much as a comma or a semicolon; it was all given, straight from the celestial recording room. Weary, I would beg for a break, an intermission, time enough, let's say, to go to the toilet or take a breath of fresh air on the balcony. Nothing doing!

Man has demonstrated that he is master of everything - except his own nature.

It is no accident that propels people like us to Paris.

I'm delirious because I'm dying so fast.

Everyday we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heartache when we read the lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty. Everyman, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths.

We don't trust our five senses; we rely on our critics and educators, all of whom are failures in the realm of creation.