Persons who have been homeless carry within them a certain philosophy of life which makes them apprehensive about ownership.

As I go to sleep I remember what my father said-that one can never be sure if one will awake. The way my health is now, this is becoming more and more real.

Lovers are not snails; they don't have to protrude from their shells and meet each other halfway. Meet me within your own self.

It is possible to stand around with a cocktail in one's hand and talk with everyone, which means with no one.

It seems that what I really want is a drug that will increase my consciousness of others, not myself.

The planned sit-down reception is an artificial forum where one is presented with a limited number of persons with whom he can hold a conversation.

[Nabokov's] language is made visible . . . like a veil or transparent curtain. You cannot help seeing the curtain as you peek into the intimate rooms behind.