In everyone there sleeps a sense of life lived according to love.
Depression is to me as daffodils were to Wordsworth.
I like spaghetti because you don't have to take your eyes off the book to pick about among it, it's all the same.
There is bad in all good authors: what a pity the converse isn't true!
Sex means nothing--just the moment of ecstasy, that flares and dies in minutes.
I listen to money singing, it's like looking down from long French windows at a provincial town. The slums, the canal, the churches ornate and mad in the evening sun. It is intensely sad.