“It is for God to fix the time who knows no time.”

Philosophy – hopeless. Yet it gives me hope.

Myths are stories about people who become too big for their lives temporarily, so that they crash into other lives or brush against gods. In crisis their souls are visible.

I don’t read reviews and I don’t know what to do with opinions, so I just lose them. They take up space, they become a process of manufacturing a persona, which I want to avoid.

Here we go mother on the shipless ocean. Pity us, pity the ocean, here we go.

Up against another human being one’s own procedures take on definition.

A page with a poem on it is less attractive than a page with a poem on it and some tea stains.

Sometimes I dream a sentence and write it down. It’s usually nonsense, but sometimes it seems a key to another world.

Could you visit me in dreams? That would cheer me. Sweet to see friends in the night, however short the time.

Caught between the tongue and the taste.

Lava bread makes you passionate.

Love is a good place to situate our distrust of fake women.

They were two superior eels at the bottom of the tank and they recognized each other like italics.

I never really got over the fun of making letters.

When an ecstatic is asked the question, What is it that love dares the self to do? she will answer: Love dares the self to leave itself behind, to enter into poverty.

I mean, every thought starts over, so every expression of a thought has to do the same. every accuracy has to be invented… I feel I am blundering in concepts too fine for me.

Life pulls softly inside your bindings. The pod glows – dear stench.

You risk just as much in being credulous as in being suspicious.

The good man makes others good.

So you really, really have to stay supple.

What makes life life and not a simple story? Jagged bits moving never still, all along the wall.

The personal frustrations that they don’t dare let out on anyone else but a brother or sister,

Immediately on landing I got together my few effects; and, squeezing myself through the crowd,

No man alive can say, This shall not happen to me.

We’re talking about the struggle to drag a thought over from the mush of the unconscious into some kind of grammar, syntax, human sense; every attempt means starting over with language. Starting over with accuracy.