All art is the struggle to be, in a particular sort of way, virtuous.

Bereavement is a darkness impenetrable to the imagination of the unbereaved

Freedom is not choosing; that is merely the move that we make when all is already lost. Freedom is knowing and understanding and respecting things quite other than ourselves.

Art is not cozy and it is not mocked. Art tells the only truth that ultimately matters. It is the light by which human things can be mended. And after art there is, let me assure you all, nothing.

Most real relationships are involuntary.

Moralistic is not moral. And as for truth - well, it's like brown - it's not in the spectrum. Truth is so generic.

People who boast of happy marriages are, I submit, usually self-deceivers, if not actually liars.