When I think about it, if I had to choose, I'd rather be happy than write.

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

The last time you were happy about nothing; the first time you were afraid about nothing. Which came first?

The woman had a humble, cringing manner. Of course, she had discovered that, having neither money nor virtue, she had better be humble if she knew what was good for her.

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.

I must write. If I stop writing my life will have been an abject failure. It is that already to other people. But it could be an abject failure to myself. I will not have earned death.

Only the magic and the dream are true — all the rest's a lie.