An unread book is just a block of paper.

And after reading Thoreau I felt how much I have lost by leaving nature out of my life.

A writer wastes nothing.

I suppose the latest thing is to sit back and let Mr. Nobody from Nowhere make love to your wife.

I felt a haunting loneliness sometimes, and felt it in others--young clerks in the dusk, wasting the most poignant moments of night and life.

It's all life is. Just going 'round kissing people.

I am tired of knowing nothing and being reminded of it all the time.