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I saw the angel in the marble and carved until i set him free. don't cry over anyone who won't cry over you. once you are real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand. lolita is famous, not i. i am an obscure, doubly obscure, novelist with an unpronounceable last name. writers aren't people exactly. or, if they're any good, they're a whole lot of people trying so hard to be one person. it's like actors, who try so pathetically not to look in mirrors. who lean backward trying--only to see their faces in the reflecting chandeliers. the robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief. a new position of responsibility will usually show a man to be a far stronger creature than was supposed. maybe that's what bravery is, a stronger fear of not being brave. when i dare to be powerful / to use my strength / in the service of my vision / then it becomes / less and less important / whether i am afraid. i try to draw the line but it ends up running down the middle of me most of the time. for tomorrow may rain, so i'll follow the sun. religion is a daughter of hope and fear, explaining to ignorance the nature of the unknowable. we don't see things as they are - we see them as we are. walter turned on the radio: electric violins wailing, twisted romance, the four-square beat of heart break. trite suffering, but suffering nonetheless. the entertainment business. what voyeurs we all have become. loneliness is the first thing which god's eye named, not good..

The individual is born of nature, but the artist is born of that individual, yearning to transcend the merely "natural" and to make complete that which, existentially, is forever incomplete, unrealized. it was only the first of many occasions during those months that seemed to take place out of time, or in a historical moment i had yet to identify. do, or do not. there is no "try". early in the novel that tereza clutched under her arm when she went to visit tomas, anna meets vronsky in curious circumstances: they are at the railway station when someone is run over by a train. at the end of the novel, anna throws herself under a train. this symmetrical composition - the same motif appears at the beginning and at the end - may seem quite 'novelistic' to you, and i am willing to agree, but only on condition that you refrain from reading such notions as 'fictive', 'fabricated', and 'untrue to life' into the word 'novelistic'. because human lives are composed in precisely such a fashion. why is compassion not part of our established curriculum, an inherent part of our education? compassion, awe, wonder, curiosity, exaltation, humility - these are the very foundations of any real civilization, no longer the prerogatives, the preserves of any one church, but belonging to everyone, every child in every home, every school. doing. what you'll discover will be wonderful. what you'll discover will be yourself. there must be quite a few things a hot bath won't cure, but i don't know many of them. whenever i'm sad i'm going to die, or so nervous i can't sleep, or in love with somebody i won't be seeing for a week, i slump down just so far and then i say: 'i'll go take a hot bath.' i pray because i can't help myself. i pray because i'm helpless. i pray because the need flows out of me all the time, waking and sleeping. it doesn't change god, it changes me. there are two kinds of people: those who say to god, "thy will be done," and those to whom god says, "all right, then, have it your way." the only way to discover the limits of the possible is to go beyond them into the impossible in memory, everything seems to happen to music. one does not love a place the less for having suffered in it unless it has all been suffering, nothing but suffering. every man's memory is his private literature. 'the horror of that moment,' the king went on,' i shall never, never forget!'<p> where there is great love there are always great miracles. there i am in younger days, stargazing / painting picture perfect maps / of how my life and love would be / not counting the unmarked paths / of misdirection / my compass, faith in love's perfection / i missed ten million miles of road / i should have seen we grow neither better nor worse as we get old, but more like ourselves. we are the music makers and we are the dreamers of dreams. it is curious how silly, trivial things, sometimes for no apparent reason, become significant. at first you laugh at these things, you think they are of no importance, you go on and you feel that you haven't got the strength to stop yourself... and so it seems to me that if i die, i shall take part in life one way or another..

Nothing strengthens the judgement and quickens the conscience like individual responsibility. it's important to have a voice; it's more important to use it. if the person you're talking to doesn't appear to be listening, be patient. it may simply be that he has a small piece of fluff in his ear. think of all the beauty still left around you and be happy. the longer i live the more i become convinced that the only thing that matters in literature is the writer is first of all an enchanter. poetry does not necessarily have to be beautiful to stick in the depths of our memory. every now and then go away, even briefly, have a little relaxation, for when you come back to your work your judgment will be surer; since to remain constantly at work will cause you to lose power. the obvious is that which is never seen until someone expresses it simply. a new position of responsibility will usually show a man to be a far stronger creature than was supposed. people living deeply have no fear of death. call it fate, call it luck, call it karma. i believe everything happens for a reason. the soul is an emanation of the divinity, a part of the soul of the world, a ray from the source of light. it comes from without into the human body, as into a temporary abode, it goes out of it anew; it wanders in ethereal regions, it returns to visit.... it passes into other habitations, for the soul is immortal. the fear of death follows from the fear of life. a man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time. i pray because i can't help myself. i pray because i'm helpless. i pray because the need flows out of me all the time, waking and sleeping. it doesn't change god, it changes me. prayer is not an old woman's idle amusement. properly understood and applied, it is the most potent instrument of action. when i have a terrible need of - shall i say the word? - religion, then i go out and paint the stars. i try to draw the line but it ends up running down the middle of me most of the time. be still and know that i am god. the happiness of a man in this life does not consist in the absence but in the mastery of his passions. beauty and grace are performed whether or not we will or sense them. the least we can do is try to be there. so since i've been home, i've learned two important things: ethernet is a gift from god, and it just doesn't sound the same to listen to the indigo girls without two people singing along. in a cruel and imperfect world, she was living proof that god could still create perfection. walter turned on the radio: electric violins wailing, twisted romance, the four-square beat of heart break. trite suffering, but suffering nonetheless. the entertainment business. what voyeurs we all have become. a pain stabbed my heart as it did every time i saw a girl i loved who was going the opposite direction in this too-big world. thoreau once said most men lead lives of quiet desperation... don't be resigned to that. live life! to look life in the face, always, to look life in the face, and to know it for what it is. at last to know it, to love it, for what it is, and then, to put it away. leonard, always the years between us, always the years, always the love, always the hours.....