I have no desires, save the desire to express myself in defiance of all the world’s muteness.

Nostalgia in reverse, the longing for yet another strange land, grew especially strong in spring.

Whenever I start thinking of my love for a person, I am in the habit of immediately drawing radii from my love - from my heart, from the tender nucleus of a personal matter- to monstrously remote points of the universe. Something impels me to measure the consciousness of my love against such unimaginable and incalculable things as the behaviour of nebulae (whose very remoteness seems a form of insanity), the dreadful pitfalls of eternity, the unknowledgeable beyond the unknown, the helplessness, the cold, the sickening involutions and interpenetrations of space and time.

A philistine is a full-grown person whose interests are of a material and commonplace nature, and whose mentality is formed of the stock ideas and conventional ideals of his or her group and time.

Look at this tangle of thorns.

I know more than I can express in words, and the little I can express would not have been expressed, had I not known more.

Who can say what heartbreaks are caused in a dog by our discontinuing a romp?