I hope something happens. I'm restless as the devil and have a horror of getting fat or falling in love and growing domestic.

That familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.

He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God.

My latest tendency is to collapse about 11:00 and with the tears flowing from my eyes or the gin rising to their level and leaking over, and tell interested friends or acquaintances that I haven't a friend in the world and likewise care for nobody.

You're a slave, a bound helpless slave to one thing in the world, your imagination.

I'll drink your champagne. I'll drink every drop of it, I don't care if it kills me.

Baltimore is warm but pleasant... I belong here, where everything is civilized and gay and rotted and polite.