I got to wear blinders all the time so I won't think sideways or in the past.
Resentment is the most precious flower of poverty.
I meditated on love and reasoned it out. I realized what is wrong with us. Men fall in love for the first time. And what do they fall in love with? ...They fall in love with a woman. They start at the wrong end of love. They begin at the climax. Can you wonder it is so miserable? Do you know how men should love? A tree. A rock. A cloud.
The dimensions of a work of art are seldom realized by the author until the work is accomplished. It is like a flowering dream. Ideas grow, budding silently, and there are a thousand illuminations coming day by day as the work progresses. A seed grows in writing as in nature. The seed of the idea is developed by both labor and the unconscious, and the struggle that goes on between them.
The trouble with me is that for a long time I have just been an I person. All people belong to a We except me. Not to belong to a We makes you too lonesome.
I want - I want - I want - was all that she could think about - but just what this real want was she did not know.
There's nothing that makes you so aware of the improvisation of human existence as a song unfinished. Or an old address book.
I see a green tree. And to me it is green. And you would call the tree green also. And we would agree on this. But is the colour you see as green the same colour I see as green?
Imagination takes humility, love and great courage.
I have more to say than Hemingway, and God knows, I say it better than Faulkner.
Coming down was the hardest part of any climbing.
I am not meant to be alone and without you who understands.
The curt truth is that, in a deep secret way, the state of being beloved is intolerable to many. The beloved fears and hates the lover, and with the best of reasons. For the lover is forever trying to strip bare his beloved. The lover craves any possible relation with the beloved, even if this experience can cause him only pain.
His own life seemed so solitary, a fragile column supporting nothing amidst the wreckage of the years.
I'm not explaining this right. What happened was this. There were these beautiful feelings and loose little pleasures inside me. And this woman was something like an assembly line for my soul. I run these little pieces of myself through her and I come out complete. Now do you follow me?
the way i need you is a loneliness i cannot bear.
We live in the richest country in the world. There's plenty and to spare for no man, woman, or child to be in want. And in addition to this our country was founded on what should have been a great, true principle - the freedom, equality, and rights of each individual. Huh! And what has come of that start? There are corporations worth billions of dollars - and hundreds of thousands of people who don't get to eat.
I´m a stranger in a strange land.
The value and quality of any love is determined solely by the lover himself.
The mind is like a richly woven tapestry in which the colors are distilled from the experiences of the senses, and the design drawn from the convolutions of the intellect.
The writer must hew the phantom rock.
Owing to the fact he was a mute they were able to give him all the qualities they wanted him to have.
Writing, for me, is a search for God.
I think we look for the differences in people because it makes us less lonely.
The memories of childhood have a strange shuttling quality, and areas of darkness ring the spaces of light. The memories of childhood are like clear candles in an acre of night, illuminating fixed scenes from surrounding darkness.
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