There is a blessedness surely to be believed, and that is that everything abides in eternal ecstasy, now and forever.
The page is long, blank, and full of truth. When I am through with it, it shall probably be long, full, and empty with words.
The fact that everybody in the world dreams every night ties all mankind together.
The dream is already ended and we’re already awake in the golden eternity.
The details are the life of it, I insist, say everything on your mind, don’t hold it back, don’t analyze or anything as you go along, say it out.
The Catholic Church is a weird church; much mysticism is sown broadspread from its ritual mysteries till it extends into the very lives of its constituents and parishoners.
Notoriety and public confession in the literary form is a frazzler of the heart you were born with, believe me.
My story is endless. I put in a teletype roll, you know, you know what they are, you have them in newspapers, and run it through there and fix the margins and just go, go – just go, go, go.
My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them.
Maybe that’s what life is, a wink of the eye, and winking stars…
Man lowers his head and lunges into civilization, forgetting the days of his infancy when he sought truth in a snowflake or a stick. Man forgets the wisdom of the child.
Listen to the inside silence in the womb of the world.
