When I'm with you, I don't breathe quite right.

For a while these reveries provided an outlet for his imagination; they were a satisfactory hint of the unreality of reality, a promise that the rock of the world was founded securely on a fairy's wing.

Sometimes I wish I'd went through those good times stone cold sober so I could remember everything," he said, "but then again, if I had been sober the times probably wouldn't have been worth remembering.

I learned a little of beauty - enough to know that it had nothing to do with truth - and I found, moreover, that there was no great literary tradition; there was only the tradition of the eventful death of every literary tradition.

Draw your chair up close to the edge of the precipice and I’ll tell you a story.

She smiled, a moving childish smile that was like all the lost youth in the world.

Every one suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues.