I am not a critic; to me criticism is so often nothing more than the eye garrulously denouncing the shape of the peephole that gives access to hidden treasure. — Djuna Barnes Copy Share Image
“There goes the dismantled—Love has fallen off her wall. A religious woman,” he thought to himself, “without the joy and safety of the Catholic… — Djuna Barnes Copy Share Image
Of course I think of the past and of Paris, what else is there to remember? — Djuna Barnes Copy Share Image
A strong sense of identity gives man an idea he can do no wrong; too little accomplishes the same. — Djuna Barnes Copy Share Image
My war brought me many things; let yours bring you as much. Life is not to be told, call it as loud as you… — Djuna Barnes Copy Share Image
When one wants to become cognizant of the color and the texture of the soil, one does not get a ladder; one gets a… — Djuna Barnes Copy Share Image
“The perfume that her body exhaled was of the quality of that earth-flesh, fungi, which smells of captured dampness and yet is so dry,… — Djuna Barnes Copy Share Image
God,' she cried, 'what is love? Man seeking his own head? The human head, so rented by misery that even the teeth weigh! She… — Djuna Barnes Copy Share Image
Suffering for love is how I have learned practically everything I know, love of grandmother up and on. — Djuna Barnes Copy Share Image
“No man need curing of his individual sickness; his universal malady is what he should look to.” — Djuna Barnes Copy Share Image
When autumn shadows throw their patterns across the land, they are not the images of fragile, dying leaves, not the bared arms of lofty… — Djuna Barnes Copy Share Image
Our bones ache only while the flesh is on them. Stretch it as thin as the temple flesh of an ailing woman and still… — Djuna Barnes Copy Share Image
