I attain a different kind of beauty, achieve asymmetry by means of infinite discords, showing all the traces of the mind's passage through the world, achieve in the end some kind of whole made of shivering fragments.

Every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind, is written large in his works.

If you are losing your leisure, look out! — It may be you are losing your soul.

Lighthouses are endlessly suggestive signifiers of both human isolation and our ultimate connectedness to each other.

The mind is the most capricious of insects—flitting, fluttering.

I have lost friends, some by death…others by sheer inability to cross the street.

I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realizes an emotion at the time. It expands later, and thus we don't have complete emotions about the present, only about the past.

All the months are crude experiments.

In case you ever foolishly forget: I am never not thinking of you.

I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realizes an emotion at the time. It expands later, and thud we don't have complete emotions about the present, only about the past.