Even the one moment that you thought was your eternity fades out and is forgotten and dies.

There is always the other side, always.

I am the only real truth I know.

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

If she says goodbye perhaps adieu. Adieu - like those old time songs she sang. Always adieu (and all songs say it). If she too says it, or weeps, I'll take her in my arms, my lunatic. She's mad but mine, mine. What will I care for gods or devils or for Fate itself. If she smiles or weeps or both. For me.

I think that the desire to be cruel and to hurt (with words because any other way might be dangerous to ourself) is part of human nature. Parties are battles (most parties), a conversation is a duel (often). Everybody's trying to hurt first, to get in the dig that will make him or her feel superior, feel triumph.

I have tried," I said, "but he does not believe me. It is too late for that now" (it is always too late for truth, I thought).