I want nothing from love, in short, but love.

Our perfect companions never have fewer than four feet.

There are days when solitude, for someone my age, is a heady wine that intoxicates you with freedom, others when it is a bitter tonic, and still others when it is a poison that makes you beat your head against the wall.

A kindly gesture bestowed by us on an animal arouses prodigies of understanding and gratitude.

You do not notice changes in what is always before you.

Sit down and put down everything that comes into your head and then you're a writer. But an author is one who can judge his own stuff's worth, without pity, and destroy most of it.

beautiful December grapes, blue as plums, every grape a little skinful of sweet, tasteless water