From Childhood On I Have Had The

Psychoanalysts Are Not Occupied With The Minds Of Their Patients; They Do Not Believe In The Mind But In A Cerebral Intestine.

One Can Repent Even Of Having Repented.

The Artist, Depicting Man Disdainful Of The Storm And Stress Of Life, Is No Less Reconciling And Healing Than The Poet Who, While Endowing Nature And Humanity, Rejoices In Its Measureless Superiority To Human Passions And Human Sorrows.

[describing His House:] It Is A Library With Living Rooms Attached.

There Are Two Futures, The Future Of Desire And The Future Of Fate, And Man's Reason Has Never Learnt To Separate Them.