I didn't know what I was doing in New York.

I deserve that, don't I, some sort of blazing love that I can live with.

After all, we are nothing more or less than we choose to reveal.

With me, the present is forever, and forever is always shifting, flowing, melting. This second is life. And when it is gone it is dead. But you can't start over with each new second. You have to judge by what is dead. It's like quicksand... hopeless from the start.

If every soldier refused to take arms ... there would be no wars; but no one has the courage to be the first to live according to Christ and Socrates, because in a world of opportunists they would be martyred.

...we shall board our imagined ship and wildly sail among sacred islands of the mad till death shatters the fabulous stars and makes us real.

The silence drew off, baring the pebbles and shells and all the tatty wreckage of my life.