I always thought old age would be a writer’s best chance. Whenever I read the late work of Goethe or W. B. Yeats I had the impertinence to identify wi...
"
All I know is what the words know, and dead things, and that makes a handsome little sum, with a beginning and a middle and an end, as in the well-bui...
"
Words are all we have.
"
It is suicide to be abroad. But what it is to be at home, ... what it is to be at home? A lingering dissolution.
"
In the name of Bacon will you chicken me up that egg.Shall I swallow cave-phantoms?
"
There is no use indicting words, they are no shoddier than what they peddle.
"
[I]f you set out to mention everything you would never be done, and that's what counts, to be done, to have done. Oh, I know, even when you mention on...
"
I'm all these words, all these strangers, this dust of words, with no ground for their settling, no sky for their dispersing, coming together to say, ...
"
You must go on.I can’t go on.I’ll go on.
"
I don’t know: perhaps it’s a dream, all a dream. (That would surprise me.) I’ll wake, in the silence, and never sleep again. (It will be I?) Or dream ...
"
But he had turned, little by little, a disturbance into words, he had made a pillow of old words, for his head.
