All my Calvaries were rosy crucifixions, pseudo-tragedies to keep the fires of hell burning brightly for the real sinners who are in danger of being forgotten.

But you can’t put fight into a man’s guts if he hasn’t any fight in him. There are some of us so cowardly that you can’t ever make heroes of us, not even if you frighten us to death. We know too much, maybe. There are some of us who don’t live in the moment, who live a little ahead, or a little behind.

A book lying idle on a shelf is wasted ammunition.

I like the one about the little soulworms that fly out of the nest for the resurrection.

Surrealism is merely the reflection of the death process. It is one of the manifestations of a life becoming extinct, a virus which quickens the inevitable end.

Whatever needs to be maintained through force is doomed.

Imagination is the voice of daring. If there is anything Godlike about God it is that. He dared to imagine everything.