Pouring out liquor is like burning books.

Talk, talk, talk: the utter and heartbreaking stupidity of words.

She was bored. She loved, had capacity to love, for love, to give and accept love. Only she tried twice and failed twice to find somebody not just strong enough to deserve it, earn it, match it, but even brave enough to accept it.

My ideal job? Landlord of a bordello! The company's good and the mornings are quiet, which is the best time to write.

It's terrible to be young. It's terrible. Terrible

Man performs and engenders so much more than he can or should have to bear. That's how he finds that he can bear anything.

Now she hates me. I have taught her that, at least.