Beauty cannot disguise nor music melt A pain undiagnosable but felt.

Why is life speeded up so? Why are things so terribly, unbearably precious that you can't enjoy them but can only wait breathless in dread of their going?

When you love someone you do not love them, all the time, in the exact same way, from moment to moment. It is an impossibility. It is a lie to pretend to. And yet this is exactly what most of us demand. We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships.

Fame is a kind of death because it arrests life around the person in the public eye.

People don't want to be understood - I mean not completely. It's too destructive. Then they haven't anything left. They don't want complete sympathy or complete understanding. They want to be treated carelessly and taken for granted lots of times.

Lost time is like a run in a stocking. It always gets worse.

How one hates to think of oneself as alone. How one avoids it. It seems to imply rejection or unpopularity.