Our souls, shamewounded by our sins, cling to us yet more, a woman to her lover clinging, the more the more. She trusts me, her hand gentle, the longlashed eyes. Now where the blue hell am I bringing her beyond the veil? Into the ineluctable modality of the ineluctable visuality. She, she, she. What she?

Mistakes are the portals of discovery.

The demand that I make of my reader is that he should devote his whole Life to reading my works.

Think you're escaping and run into yourself. Longest way round is the shortest way home.

Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age.

A nation is the same people living in the same place.

Always see a fellows weak point in his wife.