I buried my head under the darkness of the pillow and pretended it was night. I couldn't see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.

I am what I feel and think and do.

To annihilate the world by annihilation of oneself is the deluded height of desperate egoism.

If only a group of people were more important to me than the idea of a Novel, I might begin a novel.

The journey over the bridge had unnerved me. The river water passed me by like an untouched drink. I suspected that even if my mother and brother had not been there I would have made no move to jump.

So many people are shut up tight inside themselves like boxes, yet they would open up, unfolding quite wonderfully, if only you were interested in them.

My worst habit is my fear & my destructive rationalizing.