The confusion is not my invention. We cannot listen to a conversation for five minutes without being aware of the confusion. It is all around us and our only chance now is to let it in. The only chance of renovation is to open our eyes and see the mess. It is not a mess you can make sense of.

I use the words you taught me. If they don't mean anything any more, teach me others. Or let me be silent.

The only sin is the sin of being born.

I say me, knowing all the while it's not me.

Tears and laughter, they are so much Gaelic to me.

If there is one question I dread, to which I have never been able to invent a satisfactory reply, it is the question what am I doing.

When the object is perceived as particular and unique and not merely the member of a family, when it appears independent of any general notion and detached from the sanity of a cause, isolated and inexplicable in the light of ignorance, then and only then may it be a source of enchantment.