Tomorrow is another day toward death.
The blood of love welled up in my heart with a slow pain.
I drink sherry and wine by myself because I like it and I get the sensuous feeling of indulgence...luxury, bliss, erotic-tinged.
I didn't really see why people should look at me. Plenty of people looked queerer than I did.
I do not fear it: I have been there.
Writing, then, was a substitute for myself: if you don't love me, love my writing & love me for my writing. It is also much more: a way of ordering and reordering the chaos of experience.