I told her I hated normal people and the land of the fucking free and the home of the asshole brave, and I hated God and George and all and everything.
So you are Catholic? Didn't know that. I am nothing, I said. God knows God is no friend of mine. But I envy people who believe in this crap. They don't worry about the meaning of life and things, whereas I do.
Belief and delusion are incestuous siblings.
I recognized him then; that is, I finally comprehended what I had known but had never been able to formulate: he had always been complete. He had finished the work of becoming himself, long before any of us could even imagine such a feat was possible...
The world is always greater than your desires; plenty is never enough.
There are moments in life when it is all turned inside out--what is real becomes unreal, what is unreal becomes tangible, and all your levelheaded efforts to keep a tight ontological control are rendered silly and indulgent.
Home is where somebody notices when you are no longer there.
All the lives I could live, all the people I will never know, never will be, they are everywhere. That is all that the world is.
One person's garbage is another person's commodity.
When I look at my old pictures, all I can see is what I used to be but am no longer. I think: What I can see is what I am not.
It seemed that we loved each other better when there were large swaths of two continents between us. The daily work of love was often hard to perform at home.
I loved you because there was no other place for me to go. We were married because we did not know what else to do with each other. You never knew me, nothing about me, what died inside me, what lived invisibly.
The writer does not dare dream of giving the best of his individuality. No, he must never express his anger. The vacillating demands of mediocrity must be satisfied. Amuse the people, be their clown, give them platitudes about which they can laugh, s...
