Nowhere is inhumanity more revealed than in hospitals.
I see enormous loves growing immense and finally crushing me.
There are books which we read early in life, which sink into our consciousness and seem to disappear without leaving a trace. And then one day we find, in some summing-up of our life and put attitudes towards experience, that their influence has been enormous.
Every individual is representative of the whole ... and should be intimately understood, and this would give a far greater understanding of mass movements and sociology.
Paris-New York, the two high tension magnetic poles between life, life of the senses, of the spirit in Paris, and life in action in New York.
Travel is seeking the lost paradise. It is the supreme illusion of love.
In music I feel most deeply the passing of things.
Coming near him like a ballet dancer she took a leap towards him, and he, frightened by her vehemence, and fearing that she would crash against him, instinctively became absolutely rigid, and she felt herself embracing a statue.
I really believe that if I were not a writer, not a creator, not an experimenter, I might have been a very faithful wife. I think highly of faithfulness. But my temperament belongs to the writer, not to the woman.
His life rushes onward in such torrential rhythm that...only angels and devils can catch the tempo of it.
Physical experiences, lacking the joys of love, depend on twists and perversions of pleasure. Abnormal pleasures kill the taste for normal ones.
I had been struck by the analogy between neurosis and romanticism. Romanticism was truly a parallel to neurosis. It demanded of reality an illusory world, love, an absolute which it could never obtain, and thus destroyed itself by the dream.
How well I know with what burning intensity you live. You have experienced many lives already, including several you have shared with me- full rich lives from birth to death, and you just have to have these rest periods in between.
All those who try to unveil the mysteries always have tragic lives. At the end they are always punished.
I know why familles were created, with all their imperfections. They humanize you. They are made to make you forget yourself occasionally, so that the beautiful balance of life is not destroyed.
Writers do not live one life, they live two. There is the living and then there is the writing. There is the second tasting, the delayed reaction.
I often see how you sob over what you destroy, how you want to stop and just worship; and you do stop, and then a moment later you are at it again with a knife, like a surgeon.
This diary is my kief, hashish and opium pipe. This is my drug and my vice.
I have no brakes on...analysis is for those who are paralyzed by life.
Something is always born of excess: great art was born of great terror, great loneliness, great inhibitions, instabilities, and it always balances them.
Creation which cannot express itself becomes madness.
I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.
You carry away with you a reflection of me, a part of me. I dreamed you; I wished for your existence. You will always be a part of my life. If I love you, it must be because we shared, at some moment, the same imaginings, the same madness, the same stage.
I sat there for three hours and did not feel the time or the boredom of our talk and its foolish disconnection. As long as I could hear his voice, I was quite lost, quite blind, quite outside my own self.
The truly faithless one is the one who makes love to only a fraction of you. And denies the rest.
I write emotional algebra.
I will always be the virgin-prostitute, the perverse angel, the two-faced sinister and saintly woman.
I am lonely, yet not everybody will do. I don't know why, some people fill the gaps and others emphasize my loneliness. In reality those who satisfy me are those who simply allow me to live with my ''idea of them.
I am only responsible for my own heart, you offered yours up for the smashing my darling. Only a fool would give out such a vital organ.
Human beings can reach such desperate solitude that they may cross a boundary beyond which words cannot serve, and at such moments there is nothing left for them but to bark.
Each friend represents a world in us.
Each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.
Those who cannot live fully often become destroyers of life.
We are beginning to see the influence of dream upon reality and reality upon dream.
There are two ways to reach me: by way of kisses or by way of the imagination. But there is a hierarchy: the kisses alone don't work.
I reserve the right to love many different people at once, and to change my prince often.
I only believe in fire. Life. Fire. Being myself on fire I set others on fire. Never death. Fire and life.
One handles truths like dynamite.
One handles truths like dynamite. Literature is one vast hypocrisy, a giant deception, treachery. All writers have concealed more than they revealed.
The fiery moments of passionate experience are the moments of wholeness and totality of the personality.
Shame is the lie someone told you about yourself.
We are cruel when someone refuses to play the role in which we have cast him. We judge a person only according to his relationship towards us.
I either eat too much or starve myself. Sleep for 14 hours or have insomniac nights. Fall in love very hard or hate passionately. I don't know what grey is. I never did.
The earth is heavy and opaque without dreams.
My life is slowed up by thought and the need to understand what I am living.
There are only two kinds of freedom in the world; the freedom of the rich and powerful, and the freedom of the artist and the monk who renounces possessions.
With her eyes alone she could give this response, this absolutely erotic response, as if febrile waves were trembling there, pools of madness... something devouring that could lick a man all over like a flame, annihilate him, with a pleasure never known before.
The risk it takes to remain tight inside the bud
is more painful than the risk it takes to blossom.
We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are.
The self is merely the lens through which we see others and the world.
I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason.
I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn't impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.
Life is a full circle, widening until it joins the circle motions of the infinite.
In chaos, there is fertility.
The enemy of a love is never outside, it's not a man or woman, it's what we lack in ourselves.
It is a sign of great inner insecurity to be hostile to the unfamiliar.
Things aren't the way they are, they're the way you are.
Sometimes we reveal ourselves when we are least like ourselves.
The value of the personal relationship to all things is that it creates intimacy and intimacy creates understanding and understanding creates love.
Passion gives me moments of wholeness.
We have been poisoned by fairy tales.
Music melts all the separate parts of our bodies together.
We cannot cure the evils of politics with politics.
You don't find love, it finds you. It's got a little bit to do with destiny, fate, and what's written in the stars.
It was while helping others to be free that I gained my own freedom.
We see things the way we are, not the way they are.
The real wonders of life lie in the depths. Exploring the depths for truths is the real wonder which the child and the artist know: magic and power lie in truth.
Nature forms us for ourselves, not for others; to be, not to seem.
Had I not created my whole world, I would certainly have died in other people's.
No one should be forced to carry the unfulfilled self of another.
It is in the movements of emotional crisis that human beings reveal themselves most accurately.
We are all engaged in the task of peeling off the false selves, the programmed selves, the selves created by our families, our culture, our religions. It is an enormous task because the history of women has been as incompletely told as the history of blacks.
You have a right to experiment with your life. You will make mistakes. And they are right too.
Willingness to explore everything is a sign of strength. The weak ones have prejudices. Prejudices are a protection.
The only transformer and alchemist that turns everything into gold is love. The only magic against death, aging, ordinary life, is love.
I am a winged creature who is too rarely allowed to use its wings. Ecstasies do not occur often enough.
If I love you it means we share the same fantasies, the same madnesses.
I love the abstract, delicate, profound, vague, voluptuously wordless sensation of living ecstatically.
I take pleasure in my transformations. I look quiet and consistent, but few know how many women there are in me.
We are never trapped unless we choose to be.
Pain is something to master, not to wallow in.
Tranquillity is contagious, peace is contagious. One only thinks of the contagiousness of illness, but there is the contagion of serenity and joy.
I believe the lasting revolution comes from deep changes in ourselves which influence our collective life.
You cannot save people. You can only love them.
It takes courage to push yourself to places you have never been before... to test your limits... to break through barriers. And the day came when the risk it took to stay tight inside the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.
I stopped loving my father a long time ago. What remained was the slavery to a pattern.
I postpone death by living, by suffering, by error, by risking, by giving, by losing.
We write to taste life twice: in the moment and in retrospection.
When you possess light within, you see it externally.
Warmth, perfume, rugs, soft lights, books. They do not appease me. I am aware of time passing, of all the world contains that I have not seen, of all the interesting people I have not met.