Life, as it is called, is for most of us one long postponement.

I am living at the Villa Borghese. There is not a crumb of dirt anywhere, nor a chair misplaced. We are all alone here and we are dead.

One thing is certain, that when you die and are resurrected you belong to the earth and whatever is of the earth is yours inalienably. You become an anomaly of nature, a being without shadow; you will never die again but only pass away like the phenomena about you.

I have always looked upon decay as being just as wonderful and rich an expression of life as growth.

We are dancing in the hollow of nothingness. We are one flesh, but separated like stars.

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.

All growth is a leap in the dark.