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

I am sad, sad as a circus-lioness.

It's funny, he said, have you ever thought that a girl's clothes cost more than the girl inside them?

When you are a child you are yourself and you know and see everything prophetically. And then suddenly something happens and you stop being yourself; you become what others force you to be. You lose your wisdom and your soul.

If I was bound for hell, let it be hell. No more false heaven. No more damned magic.

One realized all sorts of things. The value of an illusion, for instance, and that the shadow can be more important than the substance. All sorts of things.

Yes, I am sad, sad as a circus-lioness, sad as an eagle without wings, sad as a violin with only one string and that one broken, sad as a woman who is growing old. Sad, sad, sad.