I am empty of everything. I am empty of everything but the thin, frail ghosts in my room.
I found when I was a child that if I put the hurt into words, it would go.
He had discovered that people who allow themselves to be blown about by the winds of emotion and impulse are always unhappy people.
Cold - cold as truth, cold as life. No, nothing can be as cold as life.
If I was bound for hell, let it be hell. No more false heaven. No more damned magic.
The musty smell, the bugs, the lonliness, this room, which is part of the street outside-this is all I want from life.