It was books that taught me that the things that tormented me most were the very things that connected me with all the people who were alive, or who had ever been alive.
Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up.
One writes out of one thing only - one's own experience. Everything depends on how relentlessly one forces from this experience the last drop, sweet or bitter, it can possibly give. This is the only real concern of the artist, to recreate out of the disorder of life that order which is art.
It is rare indeed that people give. Most people guard and keep; they suppose that it is they themselves and what they identify with themselves that they are guarding and keeping, whereas what they are actually guarding and keeping is their system of reality and what they assume themselves to be.
This is the charged, the dangerous moment, when everything must be re-examined, must be made new, when nothing at all can be taken for granted.
To accept one’s past – one’s history – is not the same thing as drowning in it; it is learning how to use it. An invented past can never be used; it cracks and crumbles under the pressures of life like clay in a season of drought.
The past is what makes the present coherent, and the past will remain horrible for exactly as long as we refuse to assess it honestly.
Whatever you describe to another person is also a revelation of who you are and who you think you are. You can not describe anything without betraying your point of view, your aspirations, your fears, your hopes. Everything.
The impossible is the least that one can demand.
The interior life is a real life, and the intangible dreams of people have a tangible effect on the world.
The sea rises, the light fails, lovers cling to each other and children cling to us. The moment we cease to hold each other, the moment we break faith with one another, the sea engulfs us and the light goes out.
It is very nearly impossible... to become an educated person in a country so distrustful of the independent mind.
People don't have any mercy. They tear you limb from limb, in the name of love. Then, when you're dead, when they've killed you by what they made you go through, they say you didn't have any character. They weep big, bitter tears - not for you. For themselves, because they've lost their toy.
Hatred, which could destroy so much, never failed to destroy the man who hated, and this was an immutable law.
I think that the inability to love is the central problem, because that inability masks a certain terror, and that terror is the terror of being touched. And if you can't be touched, you can't be changed. And if you can't be changed, you can't be alive.
Precisely at the point when you begin to develop a conscience you must find yourself at war with your society.
Love takes off the masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within. I use the word "love" here not merely in the personal sense but as a state of being, or a state of grace - not in the infantile American sense of being made happy but in the tough and universal sense of quest and daring and growth.
The occurrence of an event is not the same thing as knowing what it is that one has lived through.
It is a terrible, an inexorable, law that one cannot deny the humanity of another without diminishing one's own: in the face of one's victim, one sees oneself.
If you're afraid to die, you will not be able to live.
There is a 'sanctity' involved with bringing a child into this world: it is better than bombing one out of it.
Allegiance, after all, has to work two ways; and one can grow weary of an allegiance which is not reciprocal.
The power of the white world is threatened whenever a black man refuses to accept the white world's definitions.
I really do believe in the New Jerusalem. I really do believe that we can all become better than we are. I know we can. But the price is enormous and people are not yet willing to pay it.
Nobody is more dangerous than he who imagines himself pure in heart; for his purity, by definition, is unassailable.
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