What is this love that more than all the cursed deadly or any other of its great movers so moves the soul and soul what is this soul that more than by any of its great movers is by love so moved?

I have nothing but wastes and wilds of self-translation before me for many miserable months to come.

An imaginative adventure does not enjoy the same corsets as reportage.

If I was dead, I wouldn't know I was dead. That's the only thing I have against death. I want to enjoy my death.

I am still alive then. That may come in useful.

I tried to groan, Help! Help! But the tone that came out was that of polite conversation.

That desert of loneliness and recrimination that men call love.