Nothing stinks like a pile of unpublished writing.
A terrible depression yesterday. Visions of my life petering out into a kind of soft-brained stupor from lack of use.
There was a beautiful time.
If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I'm neurotic as hell.
You cannot regard your own life with objective curiosity all the time.
There is no life higher than the grasstops