“When I was done traveling, I returned convinced of one thing: we’re nothing.”

As time goes by, as time goes by, the whip-crack of the years, the precipice of illusions, the ravine that swallows up all human endeavour except the struggle to survive.

I decided to tell the truth even if it meant being pointed at.

Literature + Illness = Illness.

The sky, at sunset, looked like a carnivorous flower.

I’ll tell you, my friends: it’s all in the nerves. The nerves that tense and relax as you approach the edges of companionship and love. The razor-sharp edges of companionship and love.

One should read Borges more.

If I were to say what I really think I would be arrested or shut away in a lunatic asylum. Come on, I am sure that it would be the same for everyone.

For a moment the two of them looked at each other, wordless, as if they were asleep and their dreams had converged on common ground, a place where sound was alien.

Literature is the product of a strange rain of blood, sweat, semen, and tears.

If you’re going to say what you want to say, you’re going to hear what you don’t want to hear.

The American mirror, said the voice, the sad American mirror of wealth and poverty and constant useless metamorphosis, the mirror that sails and whose sails are pain.

Nothing happened today. And if anything did, I’d rather not talk about it, because I didn’t understand it.

You run risks. That’s the plain truth. You run risks and, even in the most unlikely places, you are subject to destiny’s whims.

When people read his books they have an uncontrollable desire to hang the author in the town square. I can’t think of a higher honor for a writer.

Every hundred feet the world changes.

We’re artists too, but we do a good job hiding it, don’t we?

What mankind needs today is liberation from the rule of nonsensical slogans and a return to sound reasoning.

When parents die, all of the partings of the past are reevoked with the realization that this time they will not return.

Let your heart go out and abide in things. Let things return and abide in your heart.

Not the poem which we have read , but that to which we return , with the greatest pleasure, possesses the genuine power, and claims the name of essential poetry .

When we are returned to power we want to put in the statute book an act which will make our people citizens of the world before they are citizens of this country.

We may recur to it year after year, and it will supply the same nourishment and the same gratification, if only we ourselves return to it with the same healthful appetite.

Every dog is allowed one bite, but a different view is taken of a dog that goes on biting all the time. He may not get his licence returned when it falls due.

I have just returned from visiting the Marines at the front, and there is not a finer fighting organization in the world!