Sometimes I feel like I'm not solid. I'm hollow. There's nothing behind my eyes. I'm a negative of a person. All I want is blackness, blackness and silence.

Slowly, slowly, catch the monkey.

I am gone quite mad with the knowledge of accepting the overwhelming number of things I can never know, places I can never go, and people I can never be.

Dancing is the normal prelude to intercourse.

I decided I would put off the novel until I had gone to Europe and had a lover, and that I would never learn a word of shorthand. If I never learned shorthand I would never have to use it.

I felt the mask crumple, the great poisonous store of corrosive ashes begin to spew out of my mouth.

I have to live my life, and it is the only one I’ll ever have.