As a recluse I couldn't bear traffic. It had nothing to do with jealousy, I simply disliked people, crowds, anywhere, except at my readings. People diminished me, they sucked me dry.

my greatest problem was stamps, envelopes, paper and wine, with the world on the edge of World War II.

Meanwhile the 3 a.m. drunks of the world would lay in their beds, trying in vain to sleep, and deserving that rest, if they could find it.

she knew what she wanted and it wasn't / me. / I know more women like that than any / other kind.

People were usually much better in their letters than in reality. They were much like poets in this way.

I feel strangely normal.

I stopped looking for a Dream Girl, I just wanted one that wasn't a nightmare.