And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.

I wanted to do everything once and for all and be through with it.

If you pluck out my heart To find what makes it move, You’ll halt the clock That syncopates our love.

It's a hell of a responsibility to be yourself. It's much easier to be somebody else or nobody at all.

I had always imagined myself hitching up on to my elbows on the delivery table after it was all over - dead white, of course, with no makeup and from the awful ordeal, but smiling and radiant, with my hair down to my waist, and reaching out for my first little squirmy child and saying its name, whatever it was.

My worst habit is my fear & my destructive rationalizing.

I like people, but to learn about one individual always appeals to me more than anything.