Nobody has ever been able to experience what they have thoroughly understood - or understand what they have experienced until they have achieved a detachment that renders them incapable of repeating the experience.

I take a sun bath and listen to the hours, formulating, and disintegrating under the pines, and smell the resiny hardihood of the high noon hours. The world is lost in a blue haze of distances, and the immediate sleeps in a thin and finite sun.

People are like almanacs, Bonnie - you never can find the information you're looking for, but the casual reading is well worth the trouble.

I can't read or sleep. Without hope or youth or money I sit constantly wishing I were dead.

Maybe other people's ideas of us are truer than our own.

It is the loose ends with which men hang themselves.

A southern moon is a sodden moon, and sultry. When it swamps the fields and the rustling sandy roads and the sticky honeysuckle hedges in its sweet stagnation, your fight to hold on to reality is like a protestation against a first waft of ether.