I had a feeling that Pandora's box contained the mysteries of woman's sensuality, so different from a man's and for which man's language was so inadequate. The language of sex had yet to be invented. The language of the senses was yet to be explored.
A man who lives unrelated to other human beings dies. But a man who lives unrelated to himself also dies.
I hate rarely, though when I hate, I hate murderously.
The way to recognize a dead word is that it exudes boredom.
I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go.
The morning I got up to begin this book I coughed. Something was coming out of my throat: it was strangling me. I broke the thread which held it and yanked it out. I went back to bed and said: I have just spat out my heart.
although I love a rich life, I hate an overcrowded life. I believe in rumination and lose half the beauty of all things when I am deprived of the time to ruminate.
I say quotations are literary. They are good only when dealing with ideas, not with experience. Experience should be pure, unique.
Secrets. Need to disguise. The novel was born of this.
Guilt is the one burden human beings can't bear alone.
Analysis does not take into account the creative products of neurotic desires.
He was jealous of her future, and she of his past.
she acquired the certainty of the expansion of time by depth of emotion, range and infinite multiplicity of experience.
We did not touch each other. We were both leaning over the abyss.
To write is to descend, to excavate, to go underground.
I want to fall in love in such a way that the mere sight of a man, even a block away from me, will shake and pierce me, will weaken me, and make me tremble and soften and melt.
I am aware of being in a beautiful prison, from which I can only escape by writing.
I am quite wiling to confide entirely in human being, except that at some moment or another human beings get preoccupied, moody, busy, inattentive, and there come an end to the interest, and this never happens in a journal!
I have an attitude now that is immovable. I shall remain outside of the world, beyond the temporal, beyond all the organizations of the world. I only believe in poetry.
There is an ugliness in being paid for work one does not like.
Anxiety is loves greatest killer.
I write emotional algebra.
She was fully, painfully aware that very rarely did midnight strike in two hearts at once, very rarely did midnight arouse two different equal desires, and that any dislocation in this, any indifference, was an indication of disunity, of the difficulties, the impossibilities of fusion between two human beings.
I cannot concentrate all my friendship on any single one of my friends because no one is complete enough in himself.
When I don't write, I feel my world shrink. I lose my fire, my color.
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