What I feel for you can’t be conveyed in phrasal combinations; It either screams out loud or stays painfully silent but I promise — it beats words. It beats worlds. I promise

Why! Why! Why is the middle-class so stodgy - so utterly without a sense of humor?

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.

Bless you, my darling, and remember you are always in the heart - oh tucked so close there is no chance of escape - of your sister.

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

That is the fearful part of having been near death. One knows how easy it is to die. The barriers that are up for everybody else are down for you, and you've only to slip through.

Regret is an appalling waste of time.