Nothing happens. Nobody comes, nobody goes. It's awful.

We always find something, eh Didi, to let us think we exist?

Absolute virtue is as sure to kill a man as absolute vice is, let alone the dullness of it and the pomposities of it.

James Joyce was a synthesizer, trying to bring in as much as he could. I am an analyzer, trying to leave out as much as I can.

Let us do something, while we have the chance! ... Let us make the most of it, before it is too late! Let us represent worthily for one the foul brood to which a cruel fate consigned us!

I have nothing but wastes and wilds of self-translation before me for many miserable months to come.

Better hope deferred than none.