There are always two deaths, the real one and the one people know about.
very few people change after well say seven or seventeen. Not really. They get more this or more that and of course look a bit different. But inside they are the same.
If all good, respectable people had one face, I'd spit in it.
I must write. If I stop writing my life will have been an abject failure. It is that already to other people. But it could be an abject failure to myself. I will not have earned death.
They say when trouble comes close ranks, and so the white people did.
He had discovered that people who allow themselves to be blown about by the winds of emotion and impulse are always unhappy people.
I long to be ... Like Other People! The extraordinary, ungetatable, oddly cruel Other People, with their way of wantonly hurting and then accusing you of being thin-skinned, sulky, vindictive or ridiculous.