I could call my wandering thoughts together. I had hardly any patience with the serious work of life which, now that it stood between me and my desire, seemed to me child's play, ugly monotonous child's play.

I confess that I do not see what good it does to fulminate against the English tyranny while the Roman tyranny occupies the palace of the soul.

I think I would know Nora's fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women.

What was after the universe? Nothing. But was there anything round the universe to show where it stopped before the nothing place began?

The sea, the snotgreen sea, the scrotumtightening sea.

A corpse is meat gone bad. Well and what's cheese? Corpse of milk.

The philosophic mind inclines always to an elaborate life--the life of Goethe or of Leonardo da Vinci; but the life of the poet isintense--the life of Blake or of Dante--taking into its centre the life that surrounds it and flinging it abroad again amid planetary music.