Do we always, always to the point of misery, do a thing?

One way or another the no doubt mad idea entered my mind that my own actions had historic importance and this fantasy (?) made it appear that people who harmed me were interfering with an important experiment.

Excuse me ... but I reject your definitions of me.

I feel that art has something to do with the achievement of stillness in the midst of chaos.

In expressing love we belong among the undeveloped countries.

You're all alone when you're a writer. Sometimes you just feel you need a humanity bath. Even a ride on the subway will do that. But it's much more interesting to talk about books. After all, that's what life used to be for writers: they talk books, politics, history, America. Nothing has replaced that.

... a fellow can't predict what he will pick up in the form of influence.