The Best Way To Fill Time Is

Alcohol Is Barren. The Words A Man Speaks In The Night Of Drunkenness Fade Like The Darkness Itself At The Coming Of Day.

You Have To Be Very Fond Of Men. Very, Very Fond. You Have To Be Very Fond Of Them To Love Them. Otherwise They're Simply Unbearable.

In A Certain State Of Mind, All Trace Of Feeling Is Banished. Whenever I Remain Silent In A Certain Way, I Don't Love You, Have You Noticed That?

The House A Woman Creates Is A Utopia. She Can't Help It - Can't Help Trying To Interest Her Nearest And Dearest Not In Happiness Itself But In The Search For It.

Finding Yourself In A Hole, At The Bottom Of A Hole, In Almost Total Solitude, And Discovering That Only Writing Can Save You. To Be Without The Slightest Subject For A Book, The Slightest Idea For A Book, Is To Find Yourself, Once Again, Before A Book. A Vast Emptiness. A Possible Book. Before Nothing. Before Something Like Living, Naked Writing, Like Something Terrible, Terrible To Overcome.