To Jealousy, Nothing Is More Frightful Than

Usually I Avoided College Students, Whom I Considered Brutal, Wrapped Up In Themselves, Particularly In Their Youth, In Which They Found Material For Drama Or An Excuse For Their Own Boredom. I Did Not Care For Young People.

A Strange Melancholy Pervades Me To Which I Hesitate To Give The Grave And Beautiful Name Of Sorrow. The Idea Of Sorrow Has Always Appealed To Me But Now I Am Almost Ashamed Of It's Complete Egoism. I Have Known Boredom, Regret, And Occasionally Remorse, But Never Sorrow. Today It Envelops Me Like A Silken Web, Enervating And Soft, And Sets Me Apart From Everybody Else.

Happiness Has Always Seemed To Me A Great Achievement.

I Found Myself Both Touched And Irritated By The Discovery That She Was Vulnerable.

I've Often Found Myself Preferring Second-rate People To Supposedly Superior People, Simply And Solely Because Of Their Uncontrollable Tendency To Bang Themselves Against The Sides Of Life's Vast Lampshade Like Fireflies Or Moths.