I would say that the masterpiece was the creative act itself and not a particular work which happened to please a large audience and be accepted as the very body of Christ.

I am appalled by the potentialities of drama that are still contained in these feeble bodies.

Do anything but let it produce joy. Do anything but let it yield ecstasy.

It is almost banal to say so yet it needs to be stressed continually: all is creation, all is change, all is flux, all is metamorphosis.

Yes, he knows how to build a fire, but I know how to inflame a cunt.

Everybody becomes a healer the moment he forgets about himself.

All that is seen with the empty sockets bursts like flowering grass.