Nothing is more real than nothing.

Then I went back into the house and wrote, It is midnight. The rain is beating on the windows. It was not midnight. It was not raining.

As it is with the love of the body, so with the friendship of the mind, the full is only reached by admittance to the most retired places.

The loss of my sight was a great fillip. If I could go deaf and dumb I think I might pant on to be a hundred.

I write about myself with the same pencil and in the same exercise book as about him. It is no longer I, but another whose life is just beginning.

God is a witness that cannot be sworn.

Never but the one matter. The dead and gone. The dying and going. From the word go.