Writing is my vacation from living.
What's the use coming home to get the blues over what can't be helped.
It was a great mistake, my being born a man, I would have been much more successful as a seagull or a fish. As it is, I will always be a stranger who never feels at home, who does not really want and is not really wanted, who can never belong, who must be a little in love with death!
Life is for each man a solitary cell whose walls are mirrors.
There is no present or future-only the past, happening over and over again-now.
I spent a year in Professor Baker's famous class at Harvard. There, too, I learned some things that were useful to me-particularly what not to do. Not to take ten lines, for instance, to say something that can be said in one line.