What A Heavy Oar The Pen Is,

What Wretched Poverty Of Language! To Compare Stars To Diamonds!

[the Artist] Is Like A Pump; He Has Inside Him A Great Pipe That Reaches Down Into The Entrails Of Things, The Deepest Layers. He Sucks Up What Was Lying There Below, Dim And Unnoticed, And Brings It In Great Jets To The Sunlight.

Success As I See It Is A Result, Not A Goal.

The More You Approach Infinity, The Deeper You Penetrate Terror

I Have No Use For The Kind Of God Who Goes Walking In His Garden With A Stick, Sends His Friends To Live In The Bellies Of Whales, Gives Up The Ghost With A Groan And Then Comes Back To Life Three Days Later!