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

I can't be satisfied with the colossal job of merely living.

Secretly, in studies and attics and schoolrooms all over America, people must be writing.

It is as if my life were magically run by two electric currents: joyous positive and despairing negative--which ever is running at the moment dominates my life, floods it.

Once one has seen God, what is the remedy?

I wondered what I thought I was burying.

God, if ever I have come close to wanting to commit suicide, it is now, with the groggy sleepless blood dragging through my veins, and the air thick and gray with rain ... I fell into bed again this morning, begging for sleep, withdrawing into the dark, warm, fetid escape from action, from responsibility. No good.