Time is rhythm: the insect rhythm of a warm humid night, brain ripple, breathing, the drum in my temple—these are our faithful timekeepers; and reason corrects the feverish beat.

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Play! Invent the world! Invent reality!

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Perhaps, somewhere, some day, at a less miserable time, we may see each other again.

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Because you took advantage of my disadvantage.

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Life is just one small piece of light between two eternal darknesses.

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Literature, real literature, must not be gulped down like some potion which may be good for the heart or good for the brain—the brain, that stomach of the soul. Literature must be taken and broken to bits, pulled apart, squashed—then its lovely reek will be smelt in the hollow of the palm, it will be munched and rolled upon the tongue with relish; then, and only then, its rare flavor will be appreciated at its true worth and the broken and crushed parts will again come together in your mind and disclose the beauty of a unity to which you have contributed something of your own blood.

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A certain man once lost a diamond cuff-link in the wide blue sea, and twenty years later, on the exact day, a Friday apparently, he was eating a large fish - but there was no diamond inside. That’s what I like about coincidence.

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Resemblances are the shadows of differences. Different people see different similarities and similar differences.

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I don't think in any language. I think in images.

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Curiosity is insubordination in its purest form.

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