Your Mind Outwears All Sorts Of Things

Love Is Purely A Creation Of The Human Imagination, It Is Merely Perhaps The Most Important Of All The Examples Of How The Imagination Continually Outruns The Creature It Inhabits.

Childhood Is The Fiery Furnace In Which We Are Melted Down To Essentials And That Essential Shaped For Good.

I Am In Paris. Yes Ma'am , I Made It Back. I Came Up From Berlin, Stopped Here Ten Days, Fought A Losing Battle Against My Deepest Inclinations, Pulled Myself Out By The Hair And Went To Madrid...madrid Is A Lovely Enchanting City, And There Was Almost Ready For Me A Kind Of Penthouse Full Of Sunlight, A Roof Garden, And So On. I Gave One Look At It All, Returned To The Hotel And Went To Bed And Wept Bitterly For Eleven Hours...why? Because I Had Seen Paris And Could Not Endure The Thought Of Being Anywhere Else.

Writing Does Not Exclude The Full Life; It Demands It.

Lovemaking Surely Must Be, For Human Beings At Our Present State Of Development, One Of The More Private Enterprises. Who Would Want A Witness To That Entire Self-abandonment And Helplessness?