And now more than anything I want beautiful prose. I relish it more and more exquisitely.

To be nothing - is that not, after all, the most satisfactory fact in the whole world?

This soul, or life within us, by no means agrees with the life outside us. If one has the courage to ask her what she thinks, she is always saying the very opposite to what other people say.

I will dream today; for I must unscrew my head somehow.

I worship you, but I loathe marriage. I hate its smugness, its safety, its compromise and the thought of you interfering with my work, hindering me; what would you answer?

A perfect treat must include a trip to a second-hand bookshop.

In certain favorable moods, memories -- what one has forgotten -- come to the top. Now if this is so, is it not possible -- I often wonder -- that things we have felt with great intensity have an existence independent of our minds; are in fact still in existence? And if so, will it not be possible, in time, that some device will be invented by which we can tap them?