One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.

I am young now and can look upon my body and soul with pride. But it will be mangled soon, and later it will begin to disintegrate, and then I shall die, and die conclusively. How can we face such a fact, and not live in fear?

My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them.

A fine thing to be talking about angels in this day when common thieves smash the holy rosaries of their victims in the street.

It no longer makes me cry and die and tear myself to see her go because everything goes away from me like that now — girls, visions, anything, just in the same way and forever and I accept lostness forever.

Some's bastards, some's ain't. That's the score.

To the children and the innocent it's all the same.