It was demeaning to scrape affection from virtually everyone you encountered. That was immature.

It was demeaning to scrape affection from virtually everyone you encountered. That was immature.

I felt that I was not, never had been and never would be a living part of this overpoweringly solid and deeply meaningful world around me.

Looking back now across fifteen years I could see with great clarity the fear I had lived in, which must mean that in the interval I had succeeded in a very important undertaking: I must have made my escape from it.

Everyone has a moment in history which belongs particularly to him.

As I said, this was my sarcastic summer. It was only long after that I recognized sarcasm as the protest of people who are weak.

Nothing endures. Not a tree. Not love. Not even death by violence.