Only talent interests me in paintings and books. Not general ideas, but the individual contribution.

Our best yesterdays are now foul piles of crumpled names.

Do not be angry with the rain; it simply does not know how to fall upwards.

Treading the soil of the moon, palpating its pebbles, tasting the panic and splendor of the event, feeling in the pit of one's stomach the separation from Terra-these form the most romantic sensation an explorer has ever known . . . this is the only thing I can say about the matter. The utilitarian results do not interest me.

I was weeping again, drunk on the impossible past.

Some people, and I am one of them, hate happy ends. We feel cheated. Harm is the norm.

Nothing is more exhilarating than philistine vulgarity.