All of my creation is an effort to weave a web of connection with the world: I am always weaving it because it was once broken.
We are going to the moon that is not very far. Man has so much farther to go within himself.
I palliate the sufferings of others. yes I see myself as softening the blows, dissolving acids, neutralizing poisons, every moment of the day. I try to fulfill the wishes of others, to perform miracles. I exert myself performing miracles.
Convalescence. Such an utter weakness that you lie like an animal hibernating, playing possum. You float. You are adrift. Every current is stronger than you.
One discovers that destiny can be diverted, that one does not have to remain in bondage to the first wax imprint made on childhood sensibilities. Once the deforming mirror has been smashed, there is a possibility of wholeness. There is a possibility of joy.
There is no denying that we are suffering from a collective neurosis and the novel which does not face this is not a novel of our time.
We celebrate peace. Yet we pay no attention to the ways of curing aggression in human beings. And when one sees in psychoanalysis hostility disappearing as people conquer their fears, one wonders if the cure is not there.
Beware of allowing a tactless word, a rebuttal, a rejection to obliterate the whole sky
Solitude may rust your words.
I am lonely, yet not everybody will do. I don't know why, some people fill the gaps and others emphasize my loneliness. In reality those who satisfy me are those who simply allow me to live with my ''idea of them.
Where the myth fails, human love begins. Then we love a human being, not our dream, but a human being with flaws.
I miss the animal buoyancy of New York, the animal vitality. I did not mind that it had no meaning and no depth.
I am only responsible for my own heart, you offered yours up for the smashing my darling. Only a fool would give out such a vital organ
Nothing too long imagined can be perfect in a wordly way.
Jazz is the music of the body. The breath comes through brass. It is the body's breath, and the strings' wails and moans are echoes of the body's music. It is the body's vibrations which ripple from the fingers. And the mystery of the withheld theme, known to jazz musicians alone, is like the mystery of our secret life. We give to others only peripheral improvisations.
All that is sacred and taboo in the world are meaningless.
Strange, isn't it, that no chemical will give a human being the iridescence that illusions have given them? Give me your hat.
There are books which we read early in life, which sink into our consciousness and seem to disappear without leaving a trace. And then one day we find, in some summing-up of our life and put attitudes towards experience, that their influence has been enormous.
Adolescence is like cactus.
To lie, of course, is to engender insanity.
I will not be just a tourist in the world of images, just watching images passing by which I cannot live in, make love to, possess as permanent sources of joy and ecstasy.
There is a resemblance between men and women, not a contrast. When a man begins to recognize his feeling, the two unite. When men accept the sensitive side of themselves, they come alive.
Then at certain moments I remember one of his words and I suddenly feel the sensual woman flaring up, as if violently caressed. I say the word to myself, with joy. It is at such a moment that my true body lives.
If a person continues to see giants, it means he is still looking at the world through the eyes of a child.
Writers do not live one life, they live two. There is the living and then there is the writing. There is the second tasting, the delayed reaction.
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