Explosions are not comfortable.

Now I no longer live in our clear, rational world; I live in the ancient nightmare world, the world of square roots of minus one.

What is it to you if I don't want others to want for me, if I want to want myself - if I want the impossible.

Her smile was a bite, and I was its target.

And a question stirred within me: What if he, this yellow-eyed creature, in his disorderly, filthy mound of leaves, in his uncomputed life, is happier than we are?

Philosophers of genius, children, and the people are equally wise - because they ask equally foolish questions. Foolish to a civilized man who has a well-furnished European apartment with an excellent toilet and a well-furnished dogma.

What the self-styled modern artists are doing is a sort of unemotional pseudo-intellectual masturabtion … whereas creative art is more like intercourse, in which the artist must seduce -- render emotional -- his audience, each time.