If you own a rug you own too much.
Between incomprehensible and incoherent sits the madhouse. I am not in the madhouse.
Always pull back-and see how silly we must look to God.
What is he aching to do? What are we all aching to do? What do we want?” She didn’t know. She yawned. She was sleepy. It was too much. Nobody could tell. Nobody would ever tell. It was all over. She was eighteen and most lovely, and lost.
You'd be surprised how little I knew even up to yesterday
All the souls to explore! - It's not so necessary to love, really, as it is to settle something deep with all of those who really matter. Love and hate are the same things, differently sifted through personal... pride, or what have you... personal pride or even just personal-ness.