“I marshalled the words and opened my mouth, thinking I would hear them. But all I heard was a kind of rattle, unintelligible even to me who knew what was intended.”

Words are the clothes thoughts wear.

I pause to record that I feel in extraordinary form. Delirium perhaps.

What are we doing here, that is the question.

I am still alive then. That may come in useful.

I gave up before birth.

Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.

Life is habit. Or rather life is a succession of habits.

Fail, fail again, fail better.

I use the words you taught me. If they don’t mean anything any more, teach me others. Or let me be silent.

You’re on earth. There’s no cure for that.

Birth was the death of him.

In my head there are several windows, that I do know, but perhaps it is always the same one, open variously on the parading universe.

Reality, whether approached imaginatively or empirically, remains a surface, hermetic.

Yes, there were times when I forgot not only who I was but that I was, forgot to be.

It was long since I had longed for anything and the effect on me was horrible.

Love, that is all I asked, a little love, daily, twice daily, fifty years of twice daily love like a Paris horse-butcher’s regular, what normal woman wants affection?

I keep kind of making certain mistakes in public appearances over and over again.

I hate violence, yes I do. It’s kind of a dilemma, huh?.

Success lulls you. It makes the most ambitious of us complacent and sloppy. In a way, you have to cultivate a kind of amnesia and forget all of your previous prosperity.

Strategy is choice. Strategy means saying no to certain kinds of things.

On the earth at the same time kind of vibe.

The glory of God is humankind fully alive.

The thing about Christmas is that it almost doesn’t matter what mood you’re in or what kind of a year you’ve had; it’s a fresh start.

I’m an armchair psychologist, I suppose, and I like to kind of sit around and guess and pretend I know what’s going on.