Arizona is gorgeous. The sunshine in Arizona is gorgeous red.
There art two cardinal sins from which all others spring: Impatience and Laziness.
There has never been a time in which I have been convinced from within myself that I am alive. You see, I have only such a fugitive awareness of things around me that I always feel they were once real and are now fleeting away. I have a constant longing, my dear sir, to catch a glimpse of things as they may have been before they show themselves to me. I feel that they were calm and beautiful. It must be so, for I often hear people talking about them as though they were.
I can prove at any time that my education tried to make another person out of me than the one I became. It is for the harm, therefore, that my educators could have done me in accordance with their intentions that I reproach them; I demand from their hands the person I now am, and since they cannot give him to me, I make of my reproach and laughter a drumbeat sounding in the world beyond.
Believing in progress does not mean believing that any progress has yet been made.
Now the Sirens have a still more fatal weapon than their song, namely their silence. . . someone might possibly have escaped from their singing; but from their silence, certainly never.
Writing is utter solitude, the descent into the cold abyss of oneself.
While the Japanese droned on in a high-pitched voice, I blinked out the desperate message over and over. TORTURE. . . TORTURE. . .
Maybe if literature was prohibited the same way as cocaine, people out of pure curiosity would try to get a couple of lines
Nobody has it all, but for me to even come close is amazing.
It troubles me that we are so easily pressured by purveyors of technology into permitting so-called "progress" to alter our lives without attempting to control it-as if technology were an irrepressible force of nature to which we must meekly submit.