It is easy to love and there are so many ways to do it.
I am apparently gentle, unstable, and full of pretenses. I will die a poet killed by the nonpoets, will renounce no dream, resign myself to no ugliness, accept nothing of the world but the one I made myself. I wrote, lived, loved like Don Quixote, and on the day of my death I will say: ‘Excuse me, it was all a dream,’ and by that time I may have found one who will say: ‘Not at all, it was true, absolutely true.’
I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason.
Don't say anything, because I see that you understand me, and I am afraid of your understanding. I have such a fear of finding another like myself, and such a desire to find one! I am so utterly lonely, but I also have such a fear that my isolation be broken through, and I no longer be the head and ruler of my universe. I am in great terror of your understanding by which you penetrate into my world; and then I stand revealed and I have to share my kingdom with you.
I have this weird obsession about buying books and looking at them with a smile, even if I won't read them soon. At least they are mine now.
I see myself wrapped in lies, which do not seem to penetrate my soul, as if they are not really a part of me. They are like costumes.
Creation which cannot express itself becomes madness.
It is difficult to live with the pure. They do not condemn you; they forgive you. This forgiveness is more terrible than a judgment.
There are only two kinds of freedom in the world; the freedom of the rich and powerful, and the freedom of the artist and the monk who renounces possessions.
I have so strong a sense of creation, of tomorrow, that I cannot get drunk, knowing I will be less alive, less well, less creative the next day.
Everything but happiness is neurosis.
If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don't write, because our culture has no use for it.
The creative personality never remains fixed on the first world it discovers. It never resigns itself to anything.
destruction is ultimately self-destruction.
It's all right for a woman to be, above all, human. I am a woman first of all.
Expressing feelings is linked directly with creation... In this ability to tap the sources of feeling and imagination lies the secret of abundance.
In every relationship, sooner or later, there is a court scene. Accusations, counter-accusations, a trial, a verdict.
My ideas usually come not at my desk writing but in the midst of living.
A trite word is an overused word which has lost its identity like an old coat in a second-hand shop. The familiar grows dull and we no longer see, hear, or taste it.
Death from disillusion is not instantaneous, and there are no mercy killers for the disillusioned.
Perhaps a child, like a cat, is so much inside of himself that he does not see himself in the mirror.
I can elect something I love and absorb myself in it.
I walked into my own book, seeking peace. It was night, and I made a careless movement inside the dream; I turned too brusquely the corner and I bruised myself against my madness.
Introspection is a devouring monster. You have to feed it with much material, much experience, many people, many places, many loves, many creations, and then it ceases feeding on you.
Either one fails in one's art or in one's life.
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