I Like Men To Behave

Pity Is An Agreeable Sentiment, Uplifting Like Military Music.

Writing Is A Question Of Finding A Certain Rhythm. I Compare It To The Rhythms Of Jazz. Much Of The Time Life Is A Sort Of Rhythmic Progression Of Three Characters. If One Tells Oneself That Life Is Like That, One Feels It Less Arbitrary.

Passion Is The Salt Of Life, And That At The Times When We Are Under Its Spell This Salt Is Indispensable To Us, Even If We Have Got Along Very Well Without It Before.

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

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.