The names for things don’t come first. Words stagger after, hopelessly trying to become the sensation.
Childhood is Last Chance Gulch for happiness. After that, you know too much.
Fantasy flows in where fact leaves a vacuum.
You can’t treat royalty like people with normal perverted desires.
Hotel rooms inhabit a separate moral universe.
He says his aim is poetry. One does not aim at poetry with pistols. At poets, perhaps.
I love love. I love having a lover and being one. The insularity of passion. I love it. I love the way it blurs the distinction between everyone who isn’t one’s lover.
You think human nature is a beast, that it must be put in a cage. But it’s the cage that makes the animal bad.
Carnal embrace is the practice of throwing one’s arms around a side of beef.
Seduced her? Every time I turned round she was up a library ladder. In the end I gave in. That reminds me – I spotted something between her legs that made me think of you.
Death followed by eternity the worst of both worlds. It is a terrible thought.
Nowadays, an artist is someone who makes art mean the things he does.
The colours red, blue and green are real. The colour yellow is a mystical experience shared by everybody.
He’s never known anything like it! But then, he has never known anything to write home about, so this is nothing to write home about.
Your opinions are your symptoms.
Rosencrantz: I don’t believe in it anyway. Guildenstern: What? Rosencrantz: England. Guildenstern: Just a conspiracy of cartographers, then?
It would have been nice to have had unicorns.
Better a fallen rocket than never a burst of light.
What are a friend’s books for if not to be borrowed?
I would join Sisyphus in Hades and gladly push my boulder up the slope if only, each time it rolled back down, I were given a line of Aeschylus.