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.

I had little talent for happiness.

I could not have gone through the awful wretched mess of life without having left a stain upon the silence.

To think, when one is no longer young, when one is not yet old, that one is no longer young, that one is not yet old, that is perhaps something.

Silence, yes, but what silence! For it is all very fine to keep silence, but one has also to consider the kind of silence one keeps.

Sloth is all passions the most powerful.

[T]he syndrome known as life is too diffuse to admit of palliation. For every symptom that is eased, another is made worse. The horse leech's daughter is a closed system. Her quantum of wantum cannot vary.