Happy is the novelist who manages to preserve an actual love letter that he received when he was young within a work of fiction, embedded in it like a clean bullet in flabby flesh and...

Good by-aye!” she chanted, my American sweet immortal dead love; for she is dead and immortal if you are reading this.

And perhaps it was precisely because she knew nothing at all about chess that chess for her was not simply a parlor game or a pleasant pastime, but a mysterious art equal to all the...

It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight.

He was afraid of touching his own wrist. He never attempted to sleep on his left side, even in those dismal hours of the night when the insomniac longs for a third side after trying...

I discovered there was an endless source of robust enjoyment in trifling with psychiatrists.

Of the not very many ways known of shedding one’s body, falling, falling, falling is the supreme method, but you have to select your sill or ledge very carefully so as not to hurt yourself...

Poetry involves the mysteries of the irrational perceived through rational words.

His brown eyes would roam around the various sentimental and artistic bric-a-brac present, and his own banal toiles (the conventionally primitive eyes, sliced guitars, blue nipples and geometrical designs of the day), and with a...

Life is a great surprise. I don’t see why death should not be an even greater one.

We live in a stocking which is in the process of being turned inside out, without our ever knowing for sure to what phase of the process our moment of consciousness corresponds.

A wise reader reads the book of genius not with his heart, not so much with his brain, but with his spine. It is there that occurs the telltale tingle…

The few times I said to myself anywhere: ‘Now that’s a nice spot for a permanent home,’ I would immediately hear in my mind the thunder of an avalanche carrying away the hundreds of far...

there were not many readers around in summer.” I was there, a one-man multitude.

I cannot conceive how anybody in his right mind should go to a psychoanalyst.

Carry me upstairs, please. I feel sort of romantic tonight.”It may interest physiologists to learn, at this point, that I have the ability – a most singular case, I presume – of shedding torrents of...

Poor Knight! he really had two periods, the first – a dull man writing broken English, the second – a broken man writing dull English.