There Is No Doubt That Running Away

I Like Shape Very Much. A Novel Has To Have Shape, And Life Doesn't Have Any.

My Life, Which Seems So Simple And Monotonous, Is Really A Complicated Affair Of Cafés Where They Like Me And Cafés Where They Don't, Streets That Are Friendly, Streets That Aren't, Rooms Where I Might Be Happy, Rooms Where I Shall Never Be, Looking-glasses I Look Nice In, Looking-glasses I Don't, Dresses That Will Be Lucky, Dresses That Won't, And So On.

But Why Do You Want To Talk To Me?' He Is Going To Say: 'because You Look So Kind,' Or 'because You Look So Beautiful And Kind,' Or, Subtly, 'because You Look As If You'll Understand....' He Says: 'because I Think You Won't Betray Me.' I Had Meant To Get This Mean To Talk To Me And Tell Me All About It, And Then Be So Devastatingly English That Perhaps I Should Manage To Hurt Him A Little In Return For All The Many Times I've Been Hurt.... 'because I Think You Won't Betray Me, Because I Think You Won't Betray Me....' Now It Won't Be So Easy.

All Of A Writer That Matters Is In The Book Or Books. It Is Idiotic To Be Curious About The Person.

I'm No Use To Anybody,' I Say. 'i'm A Cérébrale, Can't You See That?' Thinking How Funny A Book Would Be, Called 'just A Cérébrale Or You Can't Stop Me From Dreaming'. Only, Of Course, To Be Accepted As Authentic, To Carry Any Conviction, It Would Have To Be Written By A Man. What A Pity, What A Pity!