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I have lost friends, some by death, others by sheer inability to cross the street.

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Ability Accident Death Friendship Lost Street

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Distorted realities have always been my cup of tea.
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But nothing is so strange when one is in love (and what was this except being in love?) as the complete indifference of other people.
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Anything may happen when womanhood has ceased to be a protected occupation.
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Fear no more, says the heart.
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Style is a very simple matter; it is all rhythm. Once you get that, you can’t use the wrong words.
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Illusions are to the soul what atmosphere is to the earth.
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There is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.
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I feel so intensely the delights of shutting oneself up in a little world of one’s own, with pictures and music and everything beautiful.
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The extraordinary woman depends on the ordinary woman.
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I am in the mood to dissolve in the sky.
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Friendships, even the best of them, are frail things. One drifts apart.
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Each has his past shut in him like the leaves of a book known to him by heart and his friends can only read the title.
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Moments like this are buds on the tree of life. Flowers of darkness they are.
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Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.
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It is a thousand pities never to say what one feels.
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Melancholy were the sounds on a winter’s night.
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