The thought that I might kill myself formed in my mind coolly as a tree or a flower.

I am I-I am powerful, but to what extent? I am I.

A terrible depression yesterday. Visions of my life petering out into a kind of soft-brained stupor from lack of use.

I’d discovered, after a lot of extreme apprehension about what spoons to use, that if you do something incorrect at table with a certain arrogance, as if you knew perfectly well you were doing it properly, you can get away with it and nobody will think you are bad-mannered or poorly brought up. They will think you are original and very witty.

I felt dumb and subdued. Every time I tried to concentrate, my mind glided off, like a skater, into a large empty space, and pirouetted there, absently.

How can you be so many women to so many strange people, oh you strange girl?

Kiss me and you will see how important I am.