My Pessimism Has Never Been Flabby.

I Think [alain Robbe-grillet] A Good Writer, But He Speaks To The Comfortable Bourgeoisie.

I Was A Neophyte In Another World [in 1954].

We Must Act Out Passion Before We Can Feel It.

Some Of These Days, Oh, You'll Miss Me Honey

I Clung To Nothing, In A Way I Was Calm. But It Was A Horrible Calm—because Of My Body; My Body, I Saw With Its Eyes, I Heard With Its Ears, But It Was No Longer Me; It Sweated And Trembled By Itself And I Didn’t Recognize It Any More.