Stirless, I stand at the window, and in the black bowl of the sky glows like a golden drop of honey the mellow moon

I cannot conceive how anybody in his right mind should go to a psychoanalyst.

I should allow only my heart to have imagination; and for the rest rely on memory, that long drawn sunset of one's personal truth.

It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight.

The only real number is one, the rest are mere repetition

Thus, in pornographic novels, action has to be limited to the copulation of clichés.

Existence is a series of footnotes to a vast, obscure, unfinished masterpiece.