...of all things this was the saddest, that life goes on: if one leaves one's lover, life should stop for him, and if one disappears from the world, then the world should stop, too: and it never did. And that was the real reason for most people getting up in the morning: not because it would matter but because it wouldn't.

They can romanticize us so, mirrors, and that is their secret: what a subtle torture it would be to destroy all the mirrors in the world: where then could we look for reassurerance of our identities? I tell you, my dear, Narcissus was so egotist...he was merely another of us who, in our unshatterable isolation, recognized, on seeing his reflection, the beautiful comrade, the only inseparatable love...poor Narcissus, possibly the only human who was ever honest on this point.

I've never worked for a newspaper. I've had some very bad reviews in newspapers.

I would have liked to have known Oscar Wilde because I think he must have been very amusing and entertaining.

That's not writing, that's typing

I haven't anything against whores, except this: some of them may have an honest tongue but they all have dishonest hearts.

Aprils have never meant much to me, autumns seem that season of beginning, spring.