She rises up out of a sea of faces and embraces me, embraces me passionately— a thousand eyes, noses, fingers, legs, bottles, windows, purses, saucers all glaring at us and we in each other’s arm oblivious. I sit down beside her and she talks— a flood of talk. Wild consumptive notes of hysteria, perversion, leprosy.… Continue reading Henry Miller
I see myself forever and ever as the ridiculous man, the lonely soul, the wanderer, the restless frustrated artist, the man in love with love, always in search of the absolute, always seeking the unattainable. — Henry Miller, Stand Still Like the Hummingbird. (New Directions June 17, 1962)
‘Yes, Anais, I was thinking how I could betray you, but I can’t. I want you. I want to undress you, vulgarize you a bit—ah, I don’t know what I am saying. I am a little drunk because you are not here. I would like to clap my hands and, voila—Anais! I want to own… Continue reading Henry Miller
The sun is setting. I feel this river flowing through me— its past, its ancient soil, the changing climate. The hills gently girdle it about: its course is fixed. — Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer. (Obelisk Press 1934)
What’s a fuck when what I want is love? — Henry Miller
Every man, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. there is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, only to… Continue reading Henry Miller
We are dancing in the hollow of nothingness. We are one flesh, but separated like stars. — Henry Miller
When you surrender, the problem ceases to exist. Try to solve it, or conquer it, and you only set up more resistance. I am very certain now that, as I said therein, if I truly become what I wish to be, the burden will fall away. The most difficult thing to admit, and to realize… Continue reading Henry Miller
What I want is to open up. I want to know what’s inside me. I want everybody to open up. I’m like an imbecile with a can opener in his hand, wondering where to begin– to open up the earth. I know that underneath the mess everything is marvelous. I’m sure of it. — Henry… Continue reading Henry Miller
Words are loneliness. I left a couple of words for you on the tablecloth last night—you covered them with your elbows. ― Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer (Grove Press, 1934)
The Vale of Soul-Making 