If there's anything I look down on, it's a man in a blue outfit.
Aloneness and selfness are too important to betray for company.
All the heat and fear had purged itself. I felt surprisingly at peace. The bell jar hung suspended a few feet above my head. I was open to the circulating air.
Widow. The word consumes itself.
Well, I know now. I know a little more how much a simple thing like a snowfall can mean to a person
God, is this all it is, the ricocheting down the corridor of laughter and tears? Of self-worship and self-loathing? Of glory and disgust?