I saw myself driving through Eternity in a timeless taxi.

How hard it is to escape from places. However carefully one goes they hold you — you leave little bits of yourself fluttering on the fences — like rags and shreds of your very life.

Isn't life,' she stammered, 'isn't life--' But what life was she couldn't explain. No matter. He quite understood. 'Isn't it, darling?' said Laurie.

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

What do you want most to do? That's what I have to keep asking myself, in the face of difficulties.

Ach, Tchekov! Why are you dead? Why can’t I talk to you in a big darkish room at late evening—where the light is green from the waving trees outside? I’d like to write a series of Heavens: that would be one.

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