Doubt … Is An Illness That Comes

A Superhuman Will Is Needed In Order To Write, And I Am Only A Man.

[the Artist] Is Like A Pump; He Has Inside Him A Great Pipe That Reaches Down Into The Entrails Of Things, The Deepest Layers. He Sucks Up What Was Lying There Below, Dim And Unnoticed, And Brings It In Great Jets To The Sunlight.

Human Speech Is Like A Cracked Kettle On Which We Tap Crude Rhythms For Bears To Dance To, While We Long To Make Music That Will Melt The Stars.

She Would Have Liked Not To Be Alive, Or To Be Always Asleep.

I Know Nothing More Noble Than The Contemplation Of The World.