The artistic image is not intended to represent the thing itself, but, rather, the reality of the force the thing contains.

Perhaps, as we say in America, I wanted to find myself. This is an interesting phrase, not current as far as I know in the language of any other people, which certainly does not mean what it says but betrays a nagging suspicion that something has been misplaced. I think now that if I had any intimation that the self I was going to find would turn out to be only the same self from which I had spent so much time in flight, I would have stayed at home.

It is perfectly possible to be enamoured of Paris while remaining totally indifferent or even hostile to the French.

Yr crown has been bought and paid for. All you have to do is put it on yr head

A real writer is always shifting and changing and searching.

A writer has to take all the risks of putting down what he sees. No one can tell him about that. No one can control that reality. It reminds me of something Pablo Picasso was supposed to have said to Gertrude Stein while he was painting her portrait. Gertrude said, “I don’t look like that.” And Picasso replied, “You will.” And he was right.

You don’t have a home until you leave it and then, when you have left it, you never can go back.