You do things and do things and nobody really has a clue.

The throat: how strange, that there is not more erotic emphasis upon it. For here, through this compound pulsing pillar, our life makes its leap into spirit, and in the other direction gulps down what it needs of the material world.

Everybody who tells you how to act has whiskey on their breath.

The great thing about the dead, they make space.

It skims in through the eye, and by means of the utterly delicate retina hurls shadows like insect legs inward for translation. Then an immense space opens up in silence and an endlessly fecund sub-universe the writer descends, and asks the reader to descend after him, not merely to gain instructions but also to experience delight, the delight of mind freed from matter and exultant in the strength it has stolen from matter.

My only duty was to describe reality as it had come to me-to give the mundane its beautiful due.

As souls must cry when they awaken in tiny babies and find themselves far from heaven