A man is whole only when he takes into account his shadow.
Only the impossible lasts forever.
There is always more surface to a shattered object than a whole.
The priceless galaxy of misinformation called the mind.
An image is a stop the mind makes between uncertainties.
I talk too much because I have been made so miserable by what you are keeping hushed.
No one will be much or little except in someone else's mind, so be careful of the minds you get into.
Our bones ache only while the flesh is on them.
The unendurable is the beginning of the curve of joy.
Life is not to be told, call it as loud as you like, it will not tell itself.
Time is a great conference planning our end, and youth is only the past putting a leg forward.
Dreams have only the pigmentation of fact.
I like my human experience served up with a little silence and restraint. Silence makes experience go further and, when it does die, gives it that dignity common to a thing one had touched and not ravished
I have been loved,' she said, 'by something strange, and it has forgotten me.
I am not a critic; to me criticism is so often nothing more than the eye garrulously denouncing the shape of the peephole that gives access to hidden treasure.
Love is the first lie; wisdom the last.
Of course I think of the past and of Paris, what else is there to remember?
The truth is how you say it, and to be 'one's self' is the most shocking custom of all.
A man is whole only when he takes into account his shadow as well as himself - and what is a man's shadow but his upright astonishment?
There's something evil in me that loves evil and degradation--purity's black backside! That loves honesty with a horrid love; or why have I always gone seeking it at the liar's door?
Destiny and history are untidy.
The night is a skin pulled over the head of day that the day may be in torment.
She was nervous about the future; it made her indelicate. She was one of the most unimportantly wicked women of her time --because she could not let her time alone, and yet could never be a part of it. She wanted to be the reason for everything and so was the cause of nothing. She had the fluency of tongue and action meted out by divine providence to those who cannot think for themselves. She was the master of the over-sweet phrase, the over-tight embrace.
What is a ruin but time easing itself of endurance?
No man needs curing of his individual sickness; his universal malady is what he should look to.
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