Passivity, like the passivity of India induced by religion, is destructive both to human life and to art.
Life is so fluid that one can only hope to capture the living moment, to capture it alive and fresh — not the ordinary moment of an ordinary day but the critical moment of human relationships. How to capture this oscillation within the prison of cold print, without destroying that movement?
Laughter and tears are not separate experiences, with intervals of rest: they rush out together and it is like walking with a sword between your legs.
It is the function of art to renew our perception. What we are familiar with we cease to see. The writer shakes up the familiar scene, and as if by magic, we see a new meaning in it.
If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don’t write, because our culture has no use for it.
I want to fall in love in such a way that the mere sight of a man, even a block away from me, will shake and pierce me, will weaken me, and make me tremble and soften and melt.
I love your silences, they are like mine. You are the only being before whom I am not distressed by my own silences. You have a vehement silence, one feels it is charged with essences, it is a strangely alive silence, like a trap open over a well, from which one can hear the secret murmur of the earth itself.