It's so easy to make a person who hasn't got anything seem wrong.

I have been here five days. I have decided on a place to eat in at midday, a place to eat in at night, a place to have my drink in after dinner. I have arranged my little life.

Love was a terrible thing. You poisoned it and stabbed at it and knocked it down into the mud - well down - and it got up and staggered on, bleeding and muddy and awful. Like - like Rasputin.

Now I no longer wish to be loved, beautiful, happy or successful. I want one thing and one thing only - to be left alone.

All of a writer that matters is in the book or books. It is idiotic to be curious about the person.

Everything tender and melancholy - as life is sometimes, just for one moment.

Cold - cold as truth, cold as life. No, nothing can be as cold as life.