sleep is the most innocent creature there is and a sleepless man the most guilty.

But questions that don’t answer themselves at the very moment of their asking are never answered.

You are at once both the quiet and the confusion of my heart.

One has just been sent out as a biblical dove, has found nothing green, and slips back into the darkness of the Ark

Love has as few problems as a motor car. The only problems are the driver, the passengers, and the road.

Religions get lost as people do.

Nervous states of the worst sort control me without pause. Everything that is not literature bores me and I hate it. I lack all aptitude for family life except, at best, as an observer. I have no family feeling and visitors make me almost feel as though I were maliciously being attacked.