Someday you'll find someone special again. People who've been in love once usually do. It's in their nature.
I have left out what I don't remember or don't know. Temperament, fear, shyness, obedience, kindness.
If the Buddhist's job is to be detached, I think that the artist's job is to be both detached and attached.
Maybe being an artist is a kind of detachment. You're in the cave, you're isolated, you're apart from everything and it's there you can find out what you believe in, or what is - what is the nature of being, as you see it.
It's just that very few poets disturb the peace to any degree.
The act of writing itself isn't outrageous. And the institution subtly and insidiously works on you in such a way that though you seem to have freedom you become a servant. Your main issue is to get promoted to the next thing. Or get invited to a picnic. Or get tenure. Or get laid.
I was ruined before I got started. I say ruined, but I could say blessed; I was too far gone to believe in it. And I'm shocked how generation after generation repeats the behavior.
I am not the one who loves - It's love that chooses me.
The assumption that anything true is knowable is the grandfather of paradoxes.
Show me one thing here on earth which has begun well and not ended badly. The proudest palpitations are engulfed in a sewer, where they cease throbbing, as though having reached their natural term: this downfall constitutes the heart's drama and the negative meaning of history.
If adventure has a final and all-embracing motive, it is surely this: we go out because it is our nature to go out, to climb mountains, and to paddle rivers, to fly to the planets and plunge into the depths of the oceans. . . When man ceases to do these things, he is no longer man.