I think like a genius, I write like a distinguished author, I speak like a child.

I was the shadow of the waxwing slain by the false azure in the windowpane;

My loathings are simple: stupidity, oppression, crime, cruelty, soft music. My pleasures are the most intense known to man: writing and butterfly hunting.

As far as I can recall, the initial shiver of inspiration was somehow prompted by a newspaper story about an ape in the Jardin des Plantes who, after months of…

Sometimes people mistake the way I talk for what I am thinking.

Ancient Indians had a far deeper confidence in living speech than in the moral, impersonal and derivative written communication. When words issued from the mou…

I write to discover what I think. After all, the bars aren't open that early.