The fact that there are so many weak, poor and boring stories and novels written and published in America has been ascribed by our rebels to the horrible squareness of our institutions, the idiocy of power, the debasement of sexual instincts, and the failure of writers to be alienated enough. The poems and novels of these same rebellious spirits, and their theoretical statements, are grimy and gritty and very boring too, besides being nonsensical, and it is evident by now that polymorphous sexuality and vehement declarations of alienation are not going to produce great works of art either.
What Homo sapien imagines, he may slowly convert himself to.
It is a joy to be choked with thought.
Retirement is an illusion. Not a reward but a mantrap. The bankrupt underside of success. A shortcut to death. Golf courses are too much like cemeteries.
He believed that he must, that he could and would recover the good things, the happy things, the easy tranquil things of life. He had made mistakes, but he could overlook these. He had been a fool, but that could be forgiven. The time wasted--must be relinquished. What else could one do about it? Things were too complex, but they might be reduced to simplicity again. Recovery was possible.
Alternatives, and particularly desirable alternatives, grow only on imaginary trees.
Goodness is achieved not in a vacuum, but in the company of other men, attended by love.
We are funny creatures. We don't see the stars as they are, so why do we love them? They are not small gold objects, but endless fire.
In the greatest confusion there is still an open channel to the soul. It may be difficult to find because by midlife it is overgrown, and some of the wildest thickets that surround it grow out of what we describe as our education. But the channel is always there, and it is our business to keep it open, to have access to the deepest part of ourselves.
The body, she says, is subject to the force of gravity. But the soul is ruled by levity, pure.
How could I be anything but a dissenter? Who wants the opinion of a group?
When I didn't argue he was satisfied he had persuaded me, and was not the first to make that mistake.
Art is order, made out of the chaos of life.
The life of every citizen is becoming a business. This, it seems to me, is one of the worst interpretations of the meaning of human life history has ever seen. Man's life is not a business.
Let the enemies of life step down.
I think that art has something to do with an arrest of attention in the midst of distraction.
If I had a child of school age, I would send him to one of the Waldorf Schools.
Some people, if they didn't make it hard for themselves, might fall asleep.
Well, everybody has a history.
I've discovered that rejections are not altogether a bad thing. They teach a writer to rely on his own judgment and to say in his heart of hearts, 'To hell with you.'
The physical body is an agent of the spirit and its mirror. It is an engine and a reflection of the spirit. It is the spirit's ingenious memorandum to itself and the spirit sees itself in my body, just as I see my own face in a looking glass. My nerves reflect this. The earth is literally a mirror of thoughts. Objects themselves are embodied thoughts. Death is the dark backing that a mirror needs if we are to see anything.
A novel is balanced between a few true impressions and the multitude of false ones that make up most of what we call life.
I've never turned over a fig leaf yet that didn't have a price tag on the other side.
Here we write well when we expose frauds and hypocrites. We are great at counting warts and blemishes and weighting feet of clay. In expressing love, we belong among the underdeveloped countries.
With one long breath, caught and held in his chest, he fought his sadness over his solitary life. Don't cry, you idiot! Live or die, but don't poison everything.
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