I must be lean & write & make worlds beside this to live in.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my eyes and all is born again.

The claw of the magnolia, drunk on its own scents, asks nothing of life.

Good to know that if I ever need attention all I have to do is die.

I'm doped and thick from my last sleeping pill.

because wherever I sat—on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok—I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.

I am but one more drop in the great sea of matter, defined, with the ability to realize my existence.