... artists were intended to be an ornament to society. As a society in themselves they are unthinkable.

... it appears to me that problems, inherent in any writing, loom unduly large when one looks ahead. Though nothing is easy, little is quite impossible.

Who is ever adequate? We all create situations each other can't live up to, then break our hearts at them because they don't.

Art is one thing that can go on mattering once it has stopped hurting.

Darling, I don't want you; I've got no place for you; I only want what you give. I don't want the whole of anyone.... What you want is the whole of me-isn't it, isn't it?-and the whole of me isn't there for anybody. In that full sense you want me I don't exist.

Plot is the knowing of destination.

Exhibitionism and a nervous wish for concealment, for anonymity, thus battle inside the buyer of any piece of clothing.