Topographically the country is magnificent - and terrifying. Why terrifying? Because nowhere else in the world is the divorce between man and nature so complete. Nowhere have I encountered such a dull, monotonous fabric of life as here in America. Here boredom reaches its peak.

And the books you write. They're not you. They're not me sitting here, this Henry Miller. They belong to someone else. It's terrible. You can never rest.

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 read to be taken out of myself, to become ecstatic.

Imagination is the voice of the daring.

Life moves on, whether we act as cowards or heroes.

At the bottom of every frozen heart there is a drop or two of love―just enough to feed the birds.