In spite of everything, I still have my good old sense of humor.

So much working, reading, thinking, living to do. A lifetime is not long enough. Nor youth to old age long enough. Immortality and permanence be damned. Sure I want them, but they are nonexistent, and won't matter when I rot underground. All I want to say is: I made the best of a mediocre job. It was a good fight while it lasted. And so life goes.

How can you be so many women to so many strange people, oh you strange girl?

Not being perfect hurts.

There is something demoralizing about watching two people get more and more crazy about each other, especially when you are the only extra person in the room.

When I was nineteen, pureness was the great issue. Instead of the world being divided up into Catholics and Protestants or Republicans and Democrats or white men and black men or even men and women, I saw the world divided into people who had slept with somebody and people who hadn’t, and this seemed the only really significant difference between one person and another.

I need not to be more with others, but to be more & more deeply, richly alone. Recreating worlds.