hate contains truth. beauty is a facade.

It seemed better to delay thinking.

The trouble with a mask is it never changes

Now something so sad has hold of us that the breath leaves and we can't even cry.

I don’t understand people, never will. It looks like I got to travel pretty much alone.

..few writers like other writers' works. The only time they like them is when they are dead or if they have been for a long time. Writers only like to sniff their own turds. I am one of those. I don't even like to talk to writers, look at them or worse, listen to them. And the worst is to drink with them, they slobber all over themselves, really look piteous, look like they are searching for the wing of the mother. I'd rather think about death than about other writers. Far more pleasant.

Parties sickened me. I hated the game-playing, the dirty play, the flirting, the amateurs drunks, the bores.