Emotions and Feelings

[ Quoting a sign held up by a young girl on the campaign trail :] Bring us together again.

What America needs most today is what it once had, but has lost: the lift of a driving dream.

What America needs most today is what it once had, but has lost: the lift of a driving dream.

Electric flesh-arrows . . . traversing the body. A rainbow of color strikes the eye-lids. A foam of music falls over the ears. It is the gong of the orgasm.

At the center of all these noble races we cannot fail to see the blond beast of prey, the magnificent blond beast avidly prowling round for spoil and victory.

What can largely be achieved by punishment, in man or beast, is the increase of fear, the intensification of intelligence, the mastering of desires: punishment tames man in this way but does not make him “better”—we would be more justified in asserting the opposite.

In dreams we all resemble this savage.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

I like for you to be still, and you seem far away.

Between the age limits of nine and fourteen there occur maidens who, to certain bewitched travellers, twice or many times older than they, reveal their true nature which is not human, but nymphic (that is, demoniac); and these chosen creatures I propose to designate as “nymphets.”

Never mind the bottle, as long as it gets you drunk.

In a place far away from anyone or anywhere, I drifted off for a moment.

In a place far away from anyone or anywhere, I drifted off for a moment.

Passion, whether violent or not, must never be expressed to the point of exciting disgust, and . . . music, even in the most terrible situations, must never offend the ear.

I like to enjoy myself, but rest assured that I can be as serious as anyone else can.

It was a fine cry—loud and long—but it had no bottom and it had no top, just circles and circles of sorrow.

It was a fine cry—loud and long—but it had no bottom and it had no top, just circles and circles of sorrow.

124 was spiteful. Full of a baby’s venom.

C’est ce dequoy j’ay le plus de peur que la peur .

My fair one, let us swear an eternal friendship.

Il faut manger pour vivre et non pas vivre pour manger .

Wilson Mizner . . . recalls his embarrassment when he first came into the world, and found a woman in bed with him.

As he saw it, there was only one choice—to be strong and upright, or to commit suicide.

This then? This is not a book. This is libel, slander, defamation of character. This is not a book, in the ordinary sense of the word. No, this is a prolonged insult, a gob of spit in the face of Art, a kick in the pants to God, Man, Destiny, Time, Love, Beauty . . . what you will. I am going to sing for you, a little off key, perhaps, but I will sing. I will sing while you croak, I will dance over your dirty corpse.