Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
My trunk, valises and my mind are overpacked.
I hate men who are afraid of women's strength.
I seek the real stuff of life. Profound drama.
Pain is something to master, not to wallow in.
I don't wish power, only art -art and passion.
When one is pretending the entire body revolts.
You cannot save people. You can only love them.
The only abnormality is the incapacity to love.
Either one fails in one's art or in one's life.
perhaps the only magician we have is the artist.
Perfection is static, And I am in full progress.
Shame is the lie someone told you about yourself.
One may gain one truth at the expense of another.
Societies in decline have no use for visionaries.
He was jealous of her future, and she of his past.
I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness.
I will not be just a tourist in a world of images.
The softness of the summer day like an ermine paw.
In music I feel most deeply the passing of things.
I wanted to remember in order to be able to return.
He does not need opium. He has the gift of reverie.
We cannot cure the evils of politics with politics.
We see things the way we are, not the way they are.
Now that I am moving, I am afraid. Where am I going?
Worlds self made are so full of monsters and demons.
gold never comes to the dreamers - except in dreams.
You live out the confusions until they become clear.
I can elect something I love and absorb myself in it.
Creation which cannot express itself becomes madness.
I hate rarely, though when I hate, I hate murderously.
Guilt is the one burden human beings can't bear alone.
Nowhere is inhumanity more revealed than in hospitals.
Secrets. Need to disguise. The novel was born of this.
The love of only one man or one woman is an enclosure.
Things aren't the way they are, they're the way you are
Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage.
To write is to descend, to excavate, to go underground.
It is easy to love and there are so many ways to do it.
Sometimes I think of Paris not as a city but as a home.
Experience teaches acceptance of the imperfect as life.
What I cannot love, I overlook. Is that real friendship?
Compassion for our parents is the true sign of maturity.
What is love but acceptance of the other, whatever he is.
Nothing too long imagined can be perfect in a wordly way.
In creation alone there is the possibility of perfection.
All that is sacred and taboo in the world are meaningless.
Music melts all the separate parts of our bodies together.
I walk ahead of myself in perpetual expectancy of miracles.
The way to recognize a dead word is that it exudes boredom.
I needed to live, but I also needed to record what I lived.