Why it should be such an effort to write to the people one loves I can't imagine. It's none at all to write to those who don't really count.

I am poor - obscure - just eighteen years of age - with a rapacious appetite for everything and principles as light as my purse.

Whatever happens I have had these blissful, perfect moments and they are worth living for.

It is strange that there are times when I feel the stars are not at all solemn: they are secretly gay.

Better to write twaddle, anything, than nothing at all.

Perhaps it does not matter so very much what it is one loves in this world. But love something one must.

I feel I must live alone, alone, alone - with artists only to touch the door. Every artist cuts off his ear and nails it on the outside of the door for the others to shout into.