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.

We should not stop to reflect, compare, analyze, possess, but flow on and through, endlessly, like music.

Every man with a bellyful of the classics is an enemy to the human race.

Do not be duped by little duties. Do not be a chore man all your days.

After all, most writing is done away from the typewriter, away from the desk. I'd say it occurs in the quiet, silent moments, while you're walking or shaving or playing a game, or whatever, or even talking to someone you're not vitally interested in.

I have made a silent compact with myself not to change a line of what I write. I am not interested in perfecting my thoughts, nor my actions.

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