“I talk to God but the sky is empty.”

The sheets grow heavy as a lecher’s kiss.

My mother said the cure for thinking too much about yourself was helping somebody who was worse off than you.

I am not cruel, only truthful.

I write only because There is a voice within me That will not be still.

Sometimes I feel like I’m not solid. I’m hollow. There’s nothing behind my eyes. I’m a negative of a person. All I want is blackness, blackness and silence.

Compared with me, a tree is immortal.

I dream too much, work too little.

I don’t care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual.

Cheers for spring; for life; for a growing soul.

I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting in between.

How we need another soul to cling to, another body to keep us warm. To rest and trust; to give your soul in confidence: I need this, I need someone to pour myself into.

I felt wise and cynical as all hell.

I am myself. That is not enough.

Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams.

I want to be important. By being different. And these girls are all the same.

Let me live, love and say it well in good sentences.

We live in a culture that has, for centuries now, cultivated the idea that the skeptical person is always smarter than one who believes. You can almost be as stupid as a cabbage as long as you doubt.

Doubt is the vestibule through which all must pass before they can enter into the temple of wisdom.

You must believe me when I believe, and not when I doubt.

In spite of the honestest efforts to annihilate my I-ity, or merge it in what the world doubtless considers my better half, I still find myself a self-subsisting and alas! self-seeking me.

It is doubtful whether mankind are most indebted to those who like Bacon and Butler dig the gold from the mine of literature, or to those who, like Paley, purify it, stamp it, fix its real value, and give it currency and utility.

There is a lot of rubbish written about toilet humour

The child [uses] ‘doubt about food to hide doubt about love.’

Virtue does not truly reward her votary if she leaves him sad and half doubtful whether it would not have been better to serve vice.