What is it with me? Am I absolutely nobody, but merely inordinately vain? I do not know…. But I am most fearfully unhappy. That is all. I am so unhappy that I wish I was dead—yet I should be mad to die when I have not yet lived at all.

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

If you wish to live, you must first attend your own funeral.

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

... I'd always rather be with people who loved me too little rather than with people who loved me too much.

There are always these moments in life when the limits of suffering are reached and we become heroes and heroines.

I think of you often. Especially in the evenings, when I am on the balcony and it’s too dark to write or to do anything but wait for the stars. A time I love. One feels half disembodied, sitting like a shadow at the door of one’s being while the dark tide rises. Then comes the moon, marvellously serene, and small stars, very merry for some reason of their own. It is so easy to forget, in a worldly life, to attend to these miracles.