Love Is The Pursuit Of Shadows.

More And More I Feel Like A Letter—deposited Here, Collected There. But A Letter Addressed To No One.

Home Is Where The Heart Is, I Thought Now, Gathering Myself Together In Betty's Luncheonette. I Had No Heart Any More, It Had Been Broken; Or Not Broken, It Simply Wasn't There Any More. It Had Been Scooped Neatly Out Of Me Like The Yolk From A Hard-boiled Egg, Leaving The Rest Of Me Bloodless And Congealed And Hollow. I'm Heartless, I Thought. Therefore I'm Homeless.

There's Always Something To Occupy The Inquiring Mind.

Stupidity Is The Same As Evil If You Judge By The Results.

I Planned My Death Carefully, Unlike My Life, Which Meandered Along From One Thing To Another, Despite My Feeble Attempts To Control It.