In spite of everything, I still have my good old sense of humor.
I have been holding a dialogue with myself and girding myself to stand fast without running.
I like people too much or not at all.
Some pale, hueless flicker of sensitivity is in me. God, must I lose it in cooking scrambled eggs for a man.
The man creates a pseudonym and hides behind it like a worm
The first time I saw a fingerbowl was at the home of my benefactress. [...] The water had a few cherry blossoms in it, and I thought it must be some clear sort of Japanese after-dinner soup and ate every bit of it, including the crisp little blossoms.