It is strange that the tactile sense, which is so infinitely less precious to men than sight, becomes at critical moments our main, if not only, handle to reality.

A change of environment is the traditional fallacy upon which doomed loves, and lungs, rely.

Some might think that the creativity, imagination, and flights of fancy that give my life meaning are insanity.

Remembrance, like Rembrandt, is dark but festive. Remembered ones dress up for the occasion and sit still. Memory is a photo-studio de luxe on an infinite Fifth Power Avenue.

Caress the detail, the divine detail.

Nothing is more exhilarating than philistine vulgarity.

A work of art has no importance whatever to society. It is only important to the individual, and only the individual reader is important to me. I don't give a damn for the group, the community, the masses, and so forth.