The trouble with the public is that there is too much of it; what we need in public is less quantity and more quality.
Most novels I come across have all the excitement of a long trip on a bus with a sensitive glee club. Yammer and chat.
The point is to strip down, get protestant, then even more naked. Walk over scorched bricks to find your own soul. Your heart a searching dog in the rubble.
Professional Southerners sicken me.
Whoever you are, be that person with all your might. Time goes by faster than we thought. It is a thief so quiet. You must let yourself be loved and you must love, parts of you that never loved must open and love. You must announce yourself in all particulars so you can have yourself.
Literature is the history of the soul.
What a bog and labyrinth the human essence is. . . We are all overbrained and overemotioned.
I wanna try and stay a student for life.
Style? I have no style.
I just want to stay in my hotel room, read my book. I enjoy that private time.
I'm infatuated with you, I cannot deny it. Physically speaking, you're a very attractive man. But I don't like you, the vast majority of the time. So far as I can gather, you behave abominably in public and are only marginally better in private. I only find you remotely tolerable when you're kissing me.