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"The writer’s only responsibility is to his art. He will be completely ruthless if he is a good one. He has a dream. It anguishes him so much he must get rid of it. He has no peace until then. Everything goes by the board: honor, pride, decency, security, happiness, all, to get the book written. If a writer has to rob his mother, he will not hesitate; the ‘Ode on a Grecian Urn’ is worth any number of old ladies."
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"I’m not going to censor myself to comfort your ignorance."
"He did not care if she was heartless, vicious and vulgar, stupid and grasping, he loved her. He would rather have misery with one than happiness with the other."
"The first lesson I ever learned was never to wait for a man’s rescue. History is written by the survivors, and I am surely that."
"How odd I can have all this inside me and to you it’s just words."
"Each time the same -
I am holy, holy, holy, laid
out as a banquet.
His hands are plate,
cup, and knife. Always
a long table, a single
high-backed chair.
This is my body.
He eats me up and I believe
in transubstantiation,
that I will awake someday
in his veins, pound my fists
against the walls of him."