All I wanted, even when I hated you most, was some poor, barren, parched excuse to love you. But you only gave me riddles.

Imagination is the golden-eyed monster that never sleeps. It must be fed; it cannot be ignored.

There are no simple words. I don't know why I thought I could hide anything behind language.

Those who fear the imagination condemn it: something childish, they say, something monsterish, misbegotten. Not all of us dream awake. But those of us who do have no choice.

[Imagination] must be visited constantly, or else it begins to become restless and emit strange bellows at embarrassing moments; ignoring it only makes it grow larger and noisier.

Only yesterday a young woman came to me wanting a trap set for a man with a sweet smile and lithe arms. She was a fool, not for wanting him, but for wanting more of him than that.

Night is not something to endure until dawn. It is an element, like wind or fire. Darkness is its own kingdom; it moves to its own laws, and many living things dwell in it.