It's a lot to ask of one creature, it's a lot to ask, that he should first behave as if he were not, then as if he were, before being admitted to that peace where he neither is, nor is not, and where the language dies that permits of such expressions.

We all are born mad. Some remain so.

Deplorable mania, when something happens, to inquire what.

That desert of loneliness and recrimination that men call love.

Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness.

Yes, there were times when I forgot not only who I was but that I was, forgot to be.

My mistakes are my life.