Whatever the heart desires, it purchases at the cost of soul
The whole Mediterranean, the sculpture, the palm, the gold beads, the bearded heroes, the wine, the ideas, the ships, the moonlight, the winged gorgons, the bronze men, the philosophers - all of it seems to rise in the sour, pungent taste of these black olives between the teeth. A taste older than meat, older than wine. A taste as old as cold water.
The richest love is that which submits to the arbitration of time.
The loved object is simply one that has shared an experience at the same moment of time, narcissistically; and the desire to be near the beloved object is at first not due to the idea of possessing it, but simply to let the two experiences compare themselves, like reflections in different mirrors. All this may precede the first look, kiss, or touch; precede ambition, pride, or envy; precede the first declarations which mark the turning point—for from here love degenerates into habit, possession, and back to loneliness.
Perhaps our only sickness is to desire a truth which we cannot bear rather than to rest content with the fictions we manufacture out of each other.
We are all hunting for rational reasons for believing in the absurd.
Truth is a woman. That is why it is enigmatic.
Life is more complicated than we think, yet far simpler than anyone dares to imagine
Travel can be one of the most rewarding forms of introspection.
I don’t believe one reads to escape reality. A person reads to confirm a reality he knows is there, but which he has not experienced.
Like all young men I set out to be a genius, but mercifully laughter intervened.
Try and travel with the eyes of the spirit wide open, and not too much factual information. To tune in, without reverence, idly -- but with real inward attention. It is to be had for the feeling, that mysterious sense of rapport, of identity with the ground. You can extract the essence of a place once you know how. If you just get as still as a needle you'll be there.
Science is the poetry of the intellect and poetry the science of the heart's affections.
Lovers can find nothing to say to each other that has not been said and unsaid a thousand times over. Kisses were invented to translate such nothings into wounds
Does not everything depend on our interpretation of the silence around us?
Music is only love looking for words.
It is the duty of every patriot to hate his country creatively.
Truth disappears with the telling of it.
It is not peace we seek but meaning.
A city becomes a world when one loves one of its inhabitants.
An idea is like a rare bird which cannot be seen. What one sees is the trembling of the branch it has just left.
For us artists there waits the joyous compromise through art with all that wounded or defeated us in daily life; in this way, not to evade destiny, as the ordinary people try to do, but to fulfil it in its true potential - the imagination.
Very few people realise that sex is a psychic and not a physical act. The clumsy coupling of human beings is simply a biological paraphrase of this truth - a primitive method of introducing minds to each other, engaging them. But most people are stuck in the physical aspect, unaware of the poetic rapport which it so clumsily tries to teach.
Who invented the human heart, I wonder? Tell me, and then show me the place where he was hanged.
The national characteristics... the restless metaphysical curiosity, the tenderness of good living and the passionate individualism. This is the invisible constant in a place with which the ordinary tourist can get in touch just by sitting quite quietly over a glass of wine in a Paris bistro.
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