I was a man who thrived on solitude; without it I was like another man without food or water. Each day without solitude weakened me. I took no pride in my solitude; but I was dependent on it. The darkness of the room was like sunlight to me.
I tell you such fine music waits in the shadows of hell.
I remember awakening one morning and finding everything smeared with the color of forgotten love.
I pretend to understand because I don’t want anybody to be hurt.
I often carry things to read so that I will not have to look at the people.
I never felt right being alone; sometimes it felt good but it never felt right.
I had noticed that both in the very poor and very rich extremes of society the mad were often allowed to mingle freely.
I guess the only time most people think about injustice is when it happens to them.
I felt like crying but nothing came out. It was just a sort of sad sickness, sick sad, when you can’t feel any worse. I think you know it. I think everybody knows it now and then. But I think I have known it pretty often, too often.
I enjoy the bad things that are said about me. It enhances [book] sales and makes me feel evil. I don’t like to feel good ’cause I am good. But evil? Yes. It gives me another dimension.
I could read the great books but the great books don’t interest me.
Humanity, you never had it from the beginning.
