I feel half faded away like some figure in the background of an old picture.

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

Art and morality are, with certain provisos…one. Their essence is the same. The essence of both of them is love. Love is the perception of individuals. Love is the extremely difficult realization that something other than oneself is real. Love, and so art and morals, is the discovery of reality.

The most potent and sacred command which can be laid upon any artist is the command: wait.

Anything that consoles is fake.

It is in the capacity to love, that is to SEE, that the liberation of the soul from fantasy consists. The freedom which is a proper human goal is the freedom from fantasy, that is the realism of compassion. What I have called fantasy, the proliferation of blinding self-centered aims and images, is itself a powerful system of energy, and most of what is often called 'will' or 'willing' belongs to this system. What counteracts the system is attention to reality inspired by, consisting of, love.

Writing is like getting married. One should never commit oneself until one is amazed at one's luck.