The telephone ringing gave me a dreadful start. I have never got used to this machine, the way it crouches so malevolently, ready to start clamouring for attention when you least expect it, like a mad baby.

If I was asked to say what was the greatest invention of human beings, I would say the sentence.

Where I went, no one could follow. Yet someone managed to hold my hand.

That's one of the many things I hate about life, that it's a hideously cliched business.

The white May blossom swooned slowly into the open mouth of the grave.

No two things the same, the equals sign a scandal.

I'm full of self-doubt. I doubt everything I do. Everything I do is a failure.