I have been here five days. I have decided on a place to eat in at midday, a place to eat in at night, a place to have my drink in after dinner. I have arranged my little life.

Next week, or next month, or next year I will kill myself. But I might as well last out my month's rent, which has been paid up.

Love was a terrible thing. You poisoned it and stabbed at it and knocked it down into the mud - well down - and it got up and staggered on, bleeding and muddy and awful. Like - like Rasputin.

My life, which seems so simple and monotonous, is really a complicated affair of cafés where they like me and cafés where they don't, streets that are friendly, streets that aren't, rooms where I might be happy, rooms where I shall never be, looking-glasses I look nice in, looking-glasses I don't, dresses that will be lucky, dresses that won't, and so on.

Life if curious when reduced to its essentials

You can pretend for a long time, but one day it all falls away and you are alone. We are alone in the most beautiful place in the world.

A room is, after all, a place where you hide from the wolves. That's all any room is.