You cannot cross the narrow bridge of art carrying all its tools in your hands. Some you must leave behind.
People ask me why I write. I write to find out what I know.
I am made and remade continually. Different people draw different words from me.
for it was not knowledge but unity that she desired, not inscriptions on tablets, nothing that could be written in any language known to men, but intimacy itself, which is knowledge
I'm terrified of passive acquiescence. I live in intensity.
Like all very handsome men who die tragically, he left not so much a character behind him as a legend. Youth and death shed a halo through which it is difficult to see a real face.