Sight is a promiscuous sense. The avid gaze always wants more.

Each of us carries a room within ourselves, waiting to be furnished and peopled, and if you listen closely, you may need to silence everything in your own room, you can hear the sounds of that other room inside your head.

Most people in this society who aren't actively mad are, at best, reformed or potential lunatics.

I write essays first because I have a passionate relationship to the subject and second because the subject is one that people are not talking about.

As objects of contemplation, images of the atrocious can answer to several different needs. To steel oneself against weakness. To make oneself more numb. To acknowledge the existence of the incorrigible.

Instead of expecting all and being lowered into despair each time I get less, I expect nothing now and, occasionally, I get a little, and am more than a little happy.

I don’t care about someone being intelligent; any situation between people, when they are really human with each other, produces ‘intelligence.