One is seduced and battered in turn. The result is presumably wisdom. Wisdom! We are clinging to life like lizards. Why is it so difficult to assemble those things that really matter in life and to dwell among them only? I am referring to certain landscapes, persons, beasts, books, rooms, meteorological conditions, fruits. In fact, I insist on it. A letter is like a poem, it leaps into life and shows very clearly the marks, perhaps I should say thumbprints, of an unwilling or unready composer.

One should not believe too strongly in a life which can easily vanish.

Life passes into pages if it passes into anything.

One alters the past to form the future but there is a real significance to the pattern which finally appears, which resists all further change.

I like to write about certain things that if they are not written about are not going to exist.

The whole joy of writing comes from the opportunity to go over it and make it good, one way or another.

I am afraid of him, of all men who are successful in love.