It Is Always Difficult To Give Oneself

The American: A Titan Enamored Of Progress, A Fanatical Giant Who Worships "getting Things Done" But Never Asks Himself What He Is Doing Nor Why He Is Doing It.

Love Is Not A Desire For Beauty; It Is A Yearning For Completion.

I Sat At The Foot Of A Huge Tree, A Statue Of The Night, And Tried To Make An Inventory Of All I Had Seen, Heard, Smelled, And Felt: Dizziness, Horror, Stupor, Astonishment, Joy, Enthusiasm, Nausea, Inescapable Attraction. What Had Attracted Me? It Was Difficult To Say: Human Kind Cannot Bear Much Reality.

Without Democracy Freedom Is A Chimera

Enormous And Solid But Swaying, Beaten By The Wind But Chained, Murmur Of A Million Leaves Against My Window. Riot Of Trees, Surge Of Dark Green Sounds. The Grove, Suddenly Still, Is A Web Of Fronds And Branches.