I Dreamt Of Being A Writer Once

The Questions I Would Have Liked To Ask People Were: ‘are You In Love? What Are You Reading?

I Shall Live Badly If I Do Not Write, And I Shall Write Badly If I Do Not Live.

A Strange Melancholy Pervades Me To Which I Hesitate To Give The Grave And Beautiful Name Of Sorrow. The Idea Of Sorrow Has Always Appealed To Me But Now I Am Almost Ashamed Of It's Complete Egoism. I Have Known Boredom, Regret, And Occasionally Remorse, But Never Sorrow. Today It Envelops Me Like A Silken Web, Enervating And Soft, And Sets Me Apart From Everybody Else.

I Found Myself Both Touched And Irritated By The Discovery That She Was Vulnerable.

Jazz Music Is An Intensified Feeling Of Nonchalance.