Traveling wears me out.
A disquieting loneliness came into my life, but it induced no hunger for friends of longer acquaintance: they seemed now like a salt-free, sugarless diet.
I'm sure Proust was a big bore.
It may be normal, darling; but I'd rather be natural.
I've tried to believe, but I don't, I can't, and there's no use pretending.
Home is where you feel at home. I'm still looking.