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.

And there's the fallacy of existence: the idea that one could be happy forever and age with a given situation or series of accomplishments.

Let me live, love and say it well in good sentences.

Tomorrow I will curse the dawn, but there will be other, earlier nights, and the dawns will be no longer hell laid out in alarms and raw bells and sirens.

If you love her", I said, "you'll love somebody else someday.

Wear your heart on your skin in this life.

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.