The purpose of art is always, ultimately, to give pleasure - though our sensibilities may take time to catch up with the forms of pleasure that art in a given time may offer.

I make an idol of my moral consciousness. My pursuit of the good is corrupted by the sin of idolatry.

The history of art is a sequence of successful transgressions.

It's a pleasure to share one's memories. Everything remembered is dear, endearing, touching, precious. At least the past is safe though we didn't know it at the time. We know it now. Because it's in the past; because we have survived.

I like to feel dumb. That’s how I know there’s more in the world than me.

Can I love someone...and still think/fly? Love is flying, sown, floating. Thought is solitary flight, beating wings.

One could plausibly argue that it is for quite sound reasons that the whole capacity for sexual ecstasy is inaccessible to most people - given that sexuality is something, like nuclear energy, which may prove amenable to domestication through scruple, but then again may not.