You cried for night - it falls. Now cry in darkness.

My notes have a curious tendency, as I realize at last, to annihilate all they purport to record.

I asked her to look at me and after a few moments - (pause) - after a few moments she did, but the eyes just slits, because of the glare I bent over her to get them in the shadow and they opened. (Pause. Low) Let me in.

No, I regret nothing, all I regret is having been born, dying is such a long tiresome business I always found.

Habit is a compromise effected between the individual and his environment, or between the individual and his own organic eccentricities, the guarantee of a dull inviolability, the lightning-conductor of his existence.

All I want to do is sit on my ass and fart and think of Dante.

When the object is perceived as particular and unique and not merely the member of a family, when it appears independent of any general notion and detached from the sanity of a cause, isolated and inexplicable in the light of ignorance, then and only then may it be a source of enchantment.