Nobody sees anybody truly, but all through the flaws of their own ego.

It is only in his work that an artist can find reality and satisfaction, for the actual world is less intense than the world of his invention and consequently his life, without recourse to violent disorder, does not seem very substantial. The right condition for him is that in which his work in not only convenient but unavoidable.

What is the victory of a cat on a hot tin roof? - I wish I knew... Just staying on it, I guess, as long as she can.

Only some radical change can divert the downward course of my spirit, some startling new place or people to arrest the drift, the drag.

Make voyages. Attempt them. There's nothing else.

Bohemia has no banner. It survives by discretion.

I talk out the lines as I write them.