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12/18/63

The taste of death is sometimes in my mouth, these solitary evenings.

Each day I live means one day less to live.

That’s evident!

Before I die, I’d spend some time with her,

Just living.

Mornings are frantic, like all mornings,

The too fresh mind incapable

Of the ma…

12/18/60

The muse doesn’t come when you beckon. She comes when you’ve tried all day to get something right, and you’re tired and about to go to bed—and then you stay up. She comes when you’ve lost your love. She touches you, she touches your shoulder, and then you know you’re not alone after all.

11/7/60

Lots of writers, especially young writers, think they will put down “everything” in one book. They mean human consciousness (that mystery!), emotions, atmosphere, the whole gamut of existence. When they begin writing their book, they realize how much must be left out, how painfully speci…

2/11/59

Discipline, solitude and the ascetic life are not difficult for me, but I do not like the feeling of being virtuous that comes when I lead such a life even for two days. I resent feeling virtuous, just as I resent ”virtue” and consider it stupid. Small use—at this point in my life—to rem…

It is very, very difficult for me to know what to forgive among people’s vices (mine, too). Where to take a stand and say, finally, this is wrong, and therefore this person or that no longer deserves my love or friendship or anyone else’s. Europeans are better off than Americans in being brought up…