But one wants the idea of Death, you know, as something large and unknowable, something that allows a person to stretch himself out. Especially one wants it if one is tired. Or perhaps what one wants is simply a release from sensation, from all consciousness for ever.

I love people, but I love the thought and memory of them just as much.

Why does my muse only speak when she is uhnhappy? She does not, I only listen when I am unhappy.

I may be smelly and I may be old, Rough in my pebbles, reedy in my pools, But where my fish float by I bless their swimming, And I like the people to bathe in me especially women.

A great artist ... takes what he did not make and makes of it something that only he can make.

This is the simplest of all thoughts, that Death must come when we call, although he is a god.

one never knows really how things are with other people, they just do always seem more spirited than oneself somehow.