Quotes from Henry Miller

Pour une raison ou pour une autre, l'homme cherche le miracle, et pour l'accomplir, il pataugera dans le sang. Il se gorgera d'une débauche d'idées, il se réduira à n'être qu'une ombre, si, pour une seule seconde de sa vie, il peut fermer les yeux sur la hideur de la réalité. Il endure tout -disgrâce, humiliation, pauvreté, guerre, crime, ennui- croyant que demain quelque chose arrivera, un miracle! qui rendra la vie tolérable.

If any man ever dared to translate all that is in his heart, to put down what is really his experience, what is truly his truth, I think then the world would go to smash, that it would be blown to smithereens and no god, no accident, no will could ever again assemble the pieces, the atoms, the indestructible elements that have gone to make up the world.

In her tight-fitting Persian dress, with turban to match, she looked ravishing, Spring had come and she had donned a pair of long gloves and a beautiful taupe fur slung carelessly about her full, columnar neck.

What attracted me to her was her passion for Balzac. All the way home, she was talking to me about 'Lost Illusions'. The car was packed, and we were jammed so tight together that it didn't make any difference what we were talking about because we were only thinking of one thing.

The world will be complete for him who is himself complete.

Hay ocasiones en que tienes que romper con tus amigos para entender el significado de la amistad.

Apvylusius draugus visados pakei?ia nauji, kurie pasirodo sunkiausiomis akimirkomis ir iš pa?ios netik??iausios aplinkos.

What shall he say to God? He says that God knows him through and through, and that he is willing to leave himself in God's hands.

Like Boticelli's Venus, you rose from the sea and are still all foam!

There are no more books to be written, thank God.

But if you would laugh when others laugh and weep when they weep then you must be prepared to die as they die and live as they live

In youth, and long after, I was the victim of impulsive urges that were wholly beyond control.

?tii ce anume e mai impotant decat s? faci ceva? -Nu. -S? fii tu însuÈ›i. -?i dac? eÈ™ti un nimic? -Atunci fii un nimic.Dar fii din plin. -E o nebunie. -Este.De asta-i atat de solid?.

todas las miradas anhelantes que dediqué a los edificios y estatuas, los había mirado tan ansiosa, tan desesperadamente, que ahora mis pensamientos deben de haberse convertido en parte integrante de los propios edificios y estatuas, éstos deben de estar saturados con mi angustia.

The cancer of time is eating us away. Our heroes have killed themselves, or are killing themselves. The hero, then, is not Time, but Timelessness.

In the course of disintegration, a process which may go on for centuries, life loses all significance.

I know too how easily desire may be converted to deed. Even when I close my eyes I must be careful how I dream and of what, for now only the thinnest veil separates dream from reality.

To me without Dostoievsky's work there would be a deep, black hole in world literature. The loss of Shakespeare, who must seem like a wild man to the Chinese, would not be as great as losing Dostoievsky.

Vreau s? ucid c?rÈ›i,scriitori,editori,cititori.A scrie pentru public nu înseamn? absolut nimic pentru mine.Eu aÈ™ vrea s? scriu pentru nebuni- sau pentru îngeri.

The crucial and truly pivotal events which mark our way are the fruits of silence and of solitude.

Eu nu am fost niciodat? un ganditor.Ganditul nu te duce nic?ieri.E o am?gire.Ganditul te face morbid.

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.

the only time a writer receives his due reward is when someone comes to him burning with this flame which he fanned in a moment of solitude, honest criticism means nothing, what one wants is unrestrained passion, fire for fire

Contemplando el pasado, parece que siempre leí en posición incómoda. (Que es la forma en que escriben la mayoría de los escritores, según compruebo). Pero lo leído penetró. Lo importante es, y debo recalcarlo, que leía sin desviar la atención con todas mis facultades que poseía.