Hate Is A Lack Of Imagination.

Sooner Or Later... One Has To Take Sides. If One Is To Remain Human.

I Couldn't Have Thought Of Her More. Even Vacancy Was Crowded With Her.

Yesterday I Went Home With Him And We Did The Usual Things. I Haven't The Nerve To Put Them Down, But I'd Like To, Because Now When I'm Writing It's Already Tomorrow And I'm Afraid Of Getting To The End Of Yesterday. As Long As I Go On Writing, Yesterday Is Today And We Are Still Together

Grief And Disappointment Are Like Hate: They Make Men Ugly With Self-pity And Bitterness. And How Selfish They Make Us Too.

She Had Lost All Our Memories For Ever, And It Was As Though By Dying She Had Robbed Me Of Part Of Myself. I Was Losing My Individuality. It Was The First Stage Of My Own Death, The Memories Dropping Off Like Gangrened Limbs.