I've Liked Life Well Enough, But I

...i Had Grown Up In A World That Was Dominated By Immature Age. Not By Vigorous Immaturity, But By Immaturity That Was Old And Tired And Prudent, That Loved Ritual And Rubric, And Was Utterly Wanting In Curiosity About The New And The Strange. Its Era Has Passed Away, And The World It Made Has Crumbled Around Us. Its Finest Creation, A Code Of Manners, Has Been Ridiculed And Discarded.

... The Novel, As A Living Force, If Not As A Work Of Art, Owes An Incalculable Debt To What We Call, Mistakenly, The New Psychology, To Freud, In His Earlier Interpretations, And More Truly, I Think, To Jung.

I've Liked Life Well Enough, But I Reckon I'll Like Death Even Better As Soon As I've Gotten Used To The Feel Of It. ... I Shouldn't Be Amazed To Find It Less Lonely Than Life After I'm Once Safely Settled.

It Is Lovely, When I Forget All Birthdays, Including My Own, To Find That Somebody Remembers Me.

I Had No Place In Any Coterie, Or In Any Reciprocal Self-advertising. I Stood Alone. I Stood Outside. I Wanted Only To Learn. I Wanted Only To Write Better.