Thyroid eyes. Michelin lips. Voice like pea soup.
The only law which is really lived up to whole-heartedly and with a vengeance is the law of conformity.
To have her here in bed with me, breathing on me, her hair in my mouth—I count that something of a miracle.
Everybody around me was a failure, or if not a failure, ridiculous. Especially the successful ones. The successful ones bored me to tears.
One can live without friends, as one can live without love, or even without money, that supposed sine qua non. One can live in Paris – I discovered that! – on just grief and anguish. A bitter nourishment – perhaps the best there is for certain people.
I had to grow foul with knowledge, realize the futility of everything; smash everything, grow desperate, then humble, then sponge myself off the slate, as it were, in order to recover my authenticity. I had to arrive at the brink and then take a leap in the dark.