I blame myself for not often enough seeing the extraordinary in the ordinary. Somewhere in his journals, Dostoyevky remarks that a writer can begin anywhere, at the most commonplace thing, scratch around in it long enough, pry and dig away long enough, and lo!, soon he will hit upon the marvelous.

I am more stupid about some things than others; not equally stupid in all directions; I am not a well-rounded person.

I mean you have been disappointed in love, but don't you know how many things there are to be disappointed in besides love? You are lucky to be still disappointed in love. Later it may be even more terrible.

You can spend the entire second half of your life recovering from the mistakes of the first half.

Language is a spiritual mansion in which you live and nobody has the right to evict you.

I think that art has something to do with an arrest of attention in the midst of distraction.

You have, like the external world, your own phenomena inside.