Friendship, according to Proust, is the negation of that irremediable solitude to which every human being is condemned.

I knew it would soon be the end, so I played the part, you know, the part of — how shall I say, I don’t know.

I gave up before birth.

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.

The only thing you must never speak of is your happiness.

Spend the years of learning squandering Courage for the years of wandering Through a world politely turning From the loutishness of learning.

Silence and darkness were all I craved. Well, I get a certain amount of both. They being one.