“Aloneness and selfness are too important to betray for company.”

I didn’t want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn’t know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I’d cry for a week.

There is something demoralizing about watching two people get more and more crazy about each other, especially when you are the only extra person in the room.

The silence depressed me. It wasn’t the silence of silence. It was my own silence.

And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.

I am what I feel and think and do.

Tomorrow is another day toward death.

We should meet in another life, we should meet in air, me and you.

I want to write because I have the urge to excel in one medium of translation and expression of life.

I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.

Hour by hour, day by day, life becomes possible.

There is a certain unique and strange delight about walking down an empty street alone.

I love life. But it is hard and I have so much, so very much to learn.

The truth comes to me. The truth loves me.

She stared at her reflection in the glossed shop windows as if to make sure, moment by moment, that she continued to exist.

It’s a hell of a responsibility to be yourself. It’s much easier to be somebody else or nobody at all.

If the body is a temple, then tattoos are its stained glass windows.

The hands of the guilty don’t necessarily tremble; only in stories does a dropped glass betray agitation. Tension is more often shown in the studied action.

The gentle mind by gentle deeds is known, For a man by nothing is so well betrayed As by his manners.

It would take too long to explain the intimate alliance of contradictions in human nature which makes love itself wear at times the desperate shape of betrayal. And perhaps there is no possible explanation.

All a man can betray is his conscience.

Love may be likened to a disease in this respect, that when it is denied a vent in one part, it will certainly break out in another; hence what a woman’s lips often conceal, her eyes, her blushes, and many little involuntary actions betray.

Falsehood flies, and truth comes limping after it, so that when men come to be undeceived, it is too late; the jest is over, and the tale hath had its effect.

Long before morning I knew that what I was seeking to discover was a thing I’d always known. That all courage was a form of constancy. That it is always himself that the coward abandoned first. After this all other betrayals come easily.

Though we may not desire to detect fraud, we must not, on that account, endeavor to be insensible of it, for, as cunning is a crime, so is duplicity a fault, and if men dread knaves, they also despise fools.