Things aren't all so tangible and sayable as people would usually have us believe; most experiences are unsayable, they happen in a space that no word has ever entered, and more unsayable than all other things are works of art, those mysterious existences, whose life endures beside our own small, transitory life

He does not always remain bent over the pages; he often leans back and closes his eyes over a line he has been reading again, and its meaning spreads through his blood.

Love the questions themselves...Live the questions now and have confidence that someday far into the future, [I will live my] way into the answer.

I want to unfold. I don’t want to stay folded anywhere, because where I am folded, there I am a lie.

It was not in me It came and went I wanted to hold it It was held by wine (I no longer know what it was)

Let everything happen to you Beauty and terror Just keep going No feeling is final

Works of Art are of an infinite loneliness.