I had a feeling that Pandora's box contained the mysteries of woman's sensuality, so different from a man's and for which man's language was so inadequate. The language of sex had yet to be invented. The language of the senses was yet to be explored.
In New York the acoustics are good for laughter, for life is all external, all action, no thought, no meditation, no dreaming, no reflection, only the exuberance of action.
In creation alone there is the possibility of perfection.
A man who lives unrelated to other human beings dies. But a man who lives unrelated to himself also dies.
My trunk, valises and my mind are overpacked.
We sit on the kitchen exchanging these diabolical outgrowths of overfertile minds.
And silence. She liked the silence most of all. The silence in which the body, senses, the instincts, are more alert, more powerful, more sensitized, live a more richly perfumed and intoxication life, instead of transmuting into thoughts, words, into exquisite abstractions, mathematics of emotion in place of violent impact, the volcanic eruptions of fever, lust and delight.
New York seems conducted by jazz, animated by it. It is essentially a city of rhythm.
I had been struck by the analogy between neurosis and romanticism. Romanticism was truly a parallel to neurosis. It demanded of reality an illusory world, love, an absolute which it could never obtain, and thus destroyed itself by the dream.
jazz is the expression of America's romantic self, its sensual potency, its lyrical force.
The way to recognize a dead word is that it exudes boredom.
I hate rarely, though when I hate, I hate murderously.
Paris-New York, the two high tension magnetic poles between life, life of the senses, of the spirit in Paris, and life in action in New York.
Houses turn to corpses overnight when we cease to live and love in them.
I love man as creator, lover, husband, friend, but man the father I do not trust. I do not believe in man as father. I do not trust man as father.
I know no joy as great as a moment of rushing into a new love, no ecstasy like that of a new love.
although I love a rich life, I hate an overcrowded life. I believe in rumination and lose half the beauty of all things when I am deprived of the time to ruminate.
Your strength is soft, indirect, delicate, tender, womanly. But it is strength just the same.
The morning I got up to begin this book I coughed. Something was coming out of my throat: it was strangling me. I broke the thread which held it and yanked it out. I went back to bed and said: I have just spat out my heart.
I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go.
I say quotations are literary. They are good only when dealing with ideas, not with experience. Experience should be pure, unique.
To love and to labor is the sum of living.
To commit suicide is easy. To live without a god is more difficult. The drunkenness of triumph is greater than the drunkenness of sacrifice.
I will not be just a tourist in a world of images.
I prefer empty cages, Sabina, until I find a unique bird I once saw in my dreams.
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