The truth is that everyone is bored, and devotes himself to cultivating habits.

If Nietzsche is correct, that to shame a man is to kill him, then any honest attempt at autobiography will be an act of self-destruction.

I explained to him, however, that my nature was such that my physical needs often got in the way of my feelings.

At a certain level of suffering or injustice no one can do anything for anyone. Pain is solitary.

When I see a new face, something sets off an alarm bell inside me. 'slow down! Danger!' Even when the attraction is strongest, I am on my guard.

Friendship is not so simple. It is hard to get and takes a long time, but when one ha it one cannot get rid of it, one has to face it.

There is a terrible emptiness in me, an indifference that hurts.