Even a broken heart doesn't warrant a waste of good paper.

I could hear rain still pouring from the gutters and a thin branch scraping against one of the windows; but the church seemed completely cut off from the restless day outside--just as I felt cut off from the church. I thought: I am a restlessness inside a stillness inside a restlessness.

People's clothes ought to be buried with them.

Only half a page left now. Shall I fill it with 'I love you, I love you'-- like father's page of cats on the mat? No. Even a broken heart doesn't warrant a waste of good paper.

Ham with mustard is a meal of glory

I wanted so terribly to be good to him.

Noble deeds and hot baths are the best cures for depression.