I postpone death by living, by suffering, by error, by risking, by giving, by losing.
I find that life, day by day, is composed of at least one joy, one problem and one sorrow. Then there are the smaller ingredients: you always learn something, whether useful or harmful - that is difficult to analyze until later; you always give something; you alwayou always grow a little in one direction or another.
The suppression of inner patterns in favor of patterns created by society is dangerous to us.
The source of sexual power is curiosity, passion. You are watching its little flame die of asphyxiation. Sex does not thrive on monotony. Without feeling, inventions, moods, no surprises in bed. Sex must be mixed with tears, laughter, words, promises, scenes, jealousy, envy, all of the spices of fear, foreign travel, new faces, novels, stories, dreams, fantasies, music, dancing, opium, wine.
The bed must be a beautiful place, not only because you make love there but because you dream there as well.
We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls.
The obstacle became his alibi for weakness.
The child who is uprooted begins to recognize that what he builds within himself is what will endure, what will withstand shattering experiences.
Do not seek the because - in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation, no solutions.
The role of the writer is not to say what we can all say, but what we are unable to say. Most of the writing today which is called fiction contains such a poverty of language, such triteness, that it is a shrunken, diminished world we enter, poorer and more formless than the poorest cripple deprived of ears and eyes and tongue. The writer's responsibility is to increase, develop our senses, expand our vision, heighten our awareness and enrich our articulateness.
At sixteen, Sabina took moon baths, first of all, because everyone else took sun baths, and second, she admitted, because she had been told it was dangerous.
The one who travels like a lover searching for a new passion is suddenly blessed with new eyes, new ears, new senses.
I can’t let you go now. I want to go places with you; obscure little places, just to be able to say: here I came with her.
One handles truths like dynamite.
You are the only woman who ever answered the demands of my imagination.
When you make a world tolerable for yourself, you make a world tolerable for others.
The artist is the only one who knows that the world is a subjective creation, that there is a choice to be made, a selection of elements.
... America is the greatest humiliator in existence. It is always cultivating the power you get from humiliating others.
Stations and airports are rehearsals for separations by death.
Nowhere is inhumanity more revealed than in hospitals.
When others asked the truth of me, I was convinced it was not the truth they wanted, but an illusion they could bear to live with.
I love your silences, they are like mine.
Everything with me is either worship and passion or pity and understanding. I hate rarely, though when I hate. I hate murderously.
That is my essential reason for writing, not for fame, not to be celebrated after death, but to heighten and create life all around me. I also write because when I am writing I reach the high moment of fusion sought by the mystics, the poets, the lovers, a sense of communion with the universe.
You must not fear, hold back, count or be a miser with your thoughts and feelings. It is also true that creation comes from an overflow, so you have to learn to intake, to imbibe, to nourish yourself and not be afraid of fullness. The fullness is like a tidal wave which then carries you, sweeps you into experience and into writing.
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