Life's wildest moment---she kneels on the sidewalk. Everything else she does is lies, lies.

Henry Miller

Henry Miller

Profession: Author
Nationality: American


Life's wildest moment---she kneels on the sidewalk. Everything else she does is lies, lies. Henry Miller

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A book lying idle on a shelf is wasted ammunition. Like money, books must be kept in constant circulation. Lend and borrow to the maximum.

All growth is a leap in the dark, a spontaneous unpremeditated act without the benefit of experience.

Analysis brings no curative powers in its train; it merely makes us conscious of the existence of an evil, which, oddly enough, is consciousness.

What's a fuck when what I want is love?

I had to learn, as Balzac did, that one must write volumes before signing ones own name.

It seems to me that everything dates from that aborted affair.

The word must become flesh; the soul thirsts. On whatever crumb my eye fastens, I will pounce and devour. If to live is the paramount thing, then I will live, even if I must become a cannibal.

We live entirely in the past, nourished by dead thoughts, dead creeds, dead sciences. And it is the past which is engulfing us, not the future. The future always has and always will belong to—the poet.

I understand full well that it is not the mob which creates the films we see—not technically, at any rate. But in a deeper sense it is the mob which actually creates the films. For the first time in the history of art the mob has dictated what the artist should do.

It does me good to write a letter which is not a response to a demand, a gratuitous letter, so to speak, which has accumulated in me like the waters of a reservoir.

It has been that way ever since the Greeks—a blind fuck in the mud and then a quick spawn and then death.

As long as that spark of passion is missing there is no human significance in the performance.

I am fucking you, Tania, so that you'll stay fucked.

My world of human beings has perished; I was utterly alone in the world and for friends I had the streets, and the streets spoke to me in that sad, bitter language compounded of human misery, yearning, regret, failure, wasted effort.