It's a disease. Nobody thinks or feels or cares any more; nobody gets excited or believes in anything except their own comfortable little God damn mediocrity.

Being alone has nothing to do with how many people are around.

Remember what Anatole France said about the dog masturbating on your leg--'Sure, it's honest, but who needs it?

Hopeless emptiness. Now you've said it. Plenty of people are onto the emptiness, but it takes real guts to see the hopelessness.

Your cowardly self-delusions about “love” when you know as well as I do that there’s never been anything between us but contempt and distrust and a terrible sickly dependence on each other’s weakness- that’s why. That’s why I couldn’t stop laughing about the Inability to Love, and that’s why I can’t stand to let you touch me, and that’s why I’ll never again believe in anything you think, let alone anything you say

if you wanted to do something absolutely honest, something true, it always turned out to be a thing that had to be done alone.

People did change, and a change could be a bloom as well as a withering.