Praise will lead you to vanity, and blame will lead you to self-pity, and both are bad for writers.

I cry. Evil dissolves, & love, like foam; that love. Prattle of children powers me home, my heart claps like the swan's under a frenzy of who love me & who shine.

I conclude now I have no inner resources, because I am heavy bored. Peoples bore me, literature bores me, especially great literature.

I can offer you only: this world like a knife

I am so wise I had my mouth sewn shut.

Literature bores me, especially great literature

Bats have no bankers and they do not drink and cannot be arrested and pay no tax and, in general, bats have it made.