The heresies we should fear are those which can be confused with orthodoxy.

I am not sure of anything, I know nothing . . . can you imagine that I don't even know the date of my own death?

Man's memory shapes Its own Eden within

Art is endless like a river flowing, passing, yet remaining.

There is an hour of the afternoon when the plain is on the verge of saying something. It never says, or perhaps it says it infinitely, or perhaps we do not understand it, or we understand it and it is untranslatable as music.

A labyrinth of symbols... An invisible labyrinth of time.

A writer needs loneliness, and he gets his share of it. He needs love, and he gets shared and also unshared love. He needs friendship. In fact, he needs the universe. To be a writer is, in a sense, to be a day-dreamer - to be living a kind of double life.