Our Perfect Companions Never Have Fewer Than

Chance, My Master And My Friend, Will, I Feel Sure, Deign Once Again To Send Me The Spirits Of His Unruly Kingdom. All My Trust Is Now In Him- And In Myself. But Above All In Him, For When I Go Under He Always Fishes Me Out, Seizing And Shaking Me Like A Life-saving Dog Whose Teeth Tear My Skin A Little Every Time. So Now, Whenever I Despair, I No Longer Expect My End, But Some Bit Of Luck, Some Commonplace Little Miracle Which, Like A Glittering Link, Will Mend Again The Necklace Of My Days.

Sit Down And Put Down Everything That Comes Into Your Head And Then You're A Writer. But An Author Is One Who Can Judge His Own Stuff's Worth, Without Pity, And Destroy Most Of It.

I Am Indebted To The Cat For A Particular Kind Of Honorable Deceit, For A Greater Control Over Myself, For A Characteristic Aversion To Brutal Sounds, And For The Need To Keep Silent For Long Periods Of Time.

To A Poet, Silence Is An Acceptable Response, Even A Flattering One.

There Are Connoisseurs Of Blue Just As There Are Connoisseurs Of Wine.