It is awful to want to go away and to want to go nowhere.
I love my rejection slips. They show me I try.
Secretly, in studies and attics and schoolrooms all over America, people must be writing.
The trouble about jumping was that if you didn't pick the right number of stories, you might still be alive when you hit bottom.
The box is only temporary.
Very depressed today. Unable to write a thing. Menacing gods. I feel outcast on a cold star, unable to feel anything but an awful helpless numbness.