“And yet, the only exciting life is the imaginary one.”

I meant to write about death, only life came breaking in as usual.

I need not hate any man; he cannot hurt me. I need not flatter any man; he has nothing to give me.

Better was it to go unknown and leave behind you an arch, then to burn like a meteor and leave no dust.

Arrange whatever pieces come your way.

Consolation for those moments when you can’t tell whether you’re the divinest genius or the greatest fool in the world.

Moments like this are buds on the tree of life. Flowers of darkness they are.

Second hand books are wild books, homeless books; they have come together in vast flocks of variegated feather, and have a charm which the domesticated volumes of the library lack.

For this moment, this one moment, we are together. I press you to me. Come, pain, feed on me. Bury your fangs in my flesh. Tear me asunder. I sob, I sob.

There is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.

But beauty must be broken daily to remain beautiful.

The depths of the sea are only water after all.

We can best help you to prevent war not by repeating your words and following your methods but by finding new words and creating new methods.

Illness is a part of every human being’s experience. It enhances our perceptions and reduces self-consciousness. It is the great confessional; things are said, truths are blurted out which health conceals.

There was a star riding through clouds one night, & I said to the star, ‘Consume me

It might be possible that the world itself is without meaning.

Until we can comprehend the beguiling beauty of a single flower, we are woefully unable to grasp the meaning and potential of life itself.