It seems to me that in the orbit of our world you are the North Pole, I the South--so much in balance, in agreement--and yet... the whole world lies between.

The modern picture of the artist began to form: The poor, but free spirit, plebeian but aspiring only to be classless, to cut himself forever free from the bonds of the greedy bourgeoisie, to be whatever the fat burghers feared most, to cross the line wherever they drew it, to look at the world in a way they couldn't see, to be high, live low, stay young forever -- in short, to be the bohemian.

I don't know yet what I am capable of doing, but, by God, I have genius -- I know it too well to blush behind it.

In Sleep we lie all naked and alone, in Sleep we are united at the heart of night and darkness, and we are strange and beautiful asleep; for we are dying the darkness and we know no death.

There’s no sight on earth more appealing than that of a woman making dinner for someone she loves.

O lost, And by the wind grieved, Ghost, Come back again.

There is one voyage, the first, the last, the only one.