In poetically well built museums, formed from the heart's compulsions, we are consoled not by finding in them old objects that we love, but by losing all sense of Time.

Life is beautiful if you are on the road to somewhere

What was venerated as style was nothing more than an imperfection or flaw that revealed the guilty hand.

Tell me then, does love make one a fool or do only fools fall in love?

I was at the end of my tether when my first book was published. For eight years I didn't make a penny, I worked so hard, didn't drink, didn't enjoy life.

I do not believe in a personal connection to God; that's where it gets transcendental.

As always after drinking too much, I felt like my own ghost trying to take it's first solo walk outside the body.