Travel Is Seeking The Lost Paradise. It

Now That I Am Moving, I Am Afraid. Where Am I Going?

One Handles Truths Like Dynamite. Literature Is One Vast Hypocrisy, A Giant Deception, Treachery. All Writers Have Concealed More Than They Revealed.

I Believe One Writes Because One Has To Create A World In Which One Can Live.

In Music I Feel Most Deeply The Passing Of Things.

I Had Been Struck By The Analogy Between Neurosis And Romanticism. Romanticism Was Truly A Parallel To Neurosis. It Demanded Of Reality An Illusory World, Love, An Absolute Which It Could Never Obtain, And Thus Destroyed Itself By The Dream.