The Sky Hides The Night Behind It

Whereas The Tourist Generally Hurries Back Home At The End Of A Few Weeks Or Months, The Traveler Belonging No More To One Place Than To The Next, Moves Slowly Over Periods Of Years, From One Part Of The Earth To Another. Indeed, He Would Have Found It Difficult To Tell, Among The Many Places He Had Lived, Precisely Where It Was He Had Felt Most At Home.

Fiction Should Always Steer Clear Of Political Considerations.

The Soul Is The Weariest Part Of The Body.

I Wanted To Meet Other Artists. I Suppose I Simply Felt That I Was Taking Pot Shots At Clay Pipes. Pop! Down Goes Gertrude, Down Goes Jean Cocteau, Down Goes André Gide.

The Only Thing That Makes Life Worth Living Is The Possibility Of Experiencing Now And Then A Perfect Moment. And Perhaps Even More Than That, It's Having The Ability To Recall Such Moments In Their Totality, To Contemplate Them Like Jewels.