I really only have Perfect Fun with myself. Other people won't stop and look at the things I want to look at or, if they do, they stop to please me or to humor me or to keep the peace.

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.

You are a Queen. Let mine be the joy of giving you your kingdom.

Outside the sky is light with stars

There are in life as many aspects as attitudes towards it, and aspects change with attitudes.

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.

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.