I hadn't bargained for this. I didn't think it would be like this - shabby clothes, worn-out shoes, circles under your eyes, your hair getting straight and lanky, the way people look at you. ... I didn't think it would be like this

When he talked his eyes went away from mine and then he forced himself to look straight at me and he began to explain and I knew that he felt very strange with me and that he hated me, and it was funny sitting there and talking like that, knowing he hated me.

Every word I say has chains round its ankles; every thought I think is weighted with heavy weights.

What you take to be hyprocrisy is sometimes a certain caution, sometimes genuine, though ponderous, childish, sometimes a mixture of both.

It is strange how sad it can be - sunlight in the afternoon, don't you think?

I found when I was a child that if I put the hurt into words, it would go.

I am empty of everything. I am empty of everything but the thin, frail ghosts in my room.