Henry Miller Quotes

They were painfully clean. But inwardly they stank. Never once had they opened the door which leads to the soul; never once did they dream of taking a blind leap into the dark.

The purpose of life is to remember.

He is trying to recapture his innocence, yet all he succeeds in doing (by writing) is to inoculate the world with a virus of his disillusionment.

And there is a time, glorious too in its own way, when one scarcely exists, when one is a complete void. I mean, when boredom seems the very stuff of life.

The world dies over and over again, but the skeleton always gets up and walks.

Everyone has his own reality in which, if one is not too cautious, timid or frightened, one swims. This is the only reality there is.

For the moment I can think of nothing— except that I am a sentient being stabbed by the miracle of these waters that reflect a forgotten world.

The study of crime begins with the knowledge of oneself.

Every day the choice is presented to us, to live up to the spirit that is in us, or deny it.

I found that what I had desired all my life was not to live - if what others are doing is called living - but to express myself.

Even if one’s whole life were a mistake, there is always time to change.

There are only three things to be done with a woman. You can love her, suffer for her, or turn her into literature.

Think only what is right there, what is right under your nose to do. It's such a simple thing - that's why people can't do it.

Cluster together like stars!

Jump off. You are a protected individual. Do not fear.

Many is the mirage I chased. Always I was overreaching myself. The oftener I touched reality, the harder I bounced back to the world of illusion, which is the name for everyday life.

I haven't any allegiance, any responsibilities, any hatreds, any worries, any prejudices, any passion. I'm neither for nor against. I'm a neutral.

To the man whose senses are alive and alert there is not even the need to stir from one's threshold.

I used to think a bird couldn't fly if its wings got wet.

I struggled in the beginning. I said I was going to write the truth, so help me God. And I thought I was. I found I couldn't. Nobody can write the absolute truth.

The best technique is none at all.

Keep your exclamation points under control!

What does it matter how one comes by the truth so long as one pounces upon it and lives by it?

Surrealism is merely the reflection of the death process. It is one of the manifestations of a life becoming extinct, a virus which quickens the inevitable end.

You can travel fifty thousand miles in America without once tasting a piece of good bread.

We kill because we are afraid of our own shadow, afraid that if we used a little common sense we'd have to admit that our glorious principles were wrong.

New York has a trip-hammer vitality which drives you insane with restlessness if you have no inner stabilizer.

There is something else to be said about this immediate, spontaneous way of working, and that is this: in such moments, one is playing at the game of creation.

Don't look for miracles. You yourself are the miracle.

All my good reading, you might say, was done in the toilet.

I had no more need of God than He had of me, and if there were one, I often said to myself, I would meet Him calmly and spit in His face.

Every man is working out his destiny in his own way and nobody can be of any help except by being kind, generous, and patient.

At the bottom of every frozen heart there is a drop or two of love―just enough to feed the birds.

The monstrous thing is not that men have created roses out of this dung heap, but that, for some reason or other, they should want roses.

Remorse is impotence; it will sin again. Only repentance is strong - it can end everything.

All my Calvaries were rosy crucifixions, pseudo-tragedies to keep the fires of hell burning brightly for the real sinners who are in danger of being forgotten.

It is no accident that propels people like us to Paris.

And what is the potential man, after all? Is he not the sum of all that is human? Divine, in other words?

The most wonderful opportunity which life offers is to be human.

Imagination is the voice of the daring.

The history of the world is the history of the privileged few.

Whoever uses the spirit that is in him creatively is an artist. To make living itself an art, that is the goal.

Forget the books you want to write. Think only of the book you are writing.

And the books you write. They're not you. They're not me sitting here, this Henry Miller. They belong to someone else. It's terrible. You can never rest.

I demanded a realm in which I should be both master and slave at the same time: The world of art is the only such realm.

I read to be taken out of myself, to become ecstatic.

The blind lead the blind. It's the democratic way.

For a metaphysical treat stop at the Big Sur Inn, which is also a haven for stray cats and dogs. Life along the South Coast is just a bed of roses, with a few thorns and nettles interspersed.

The Teutons have been singing the swan song ever since they entered the ranks of history. They have always confounded truth with death.

Everyman, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths.