No complaint. . . is more common than that of a scarcity of money.
I don’t believe one reads to escape reality. A person reads to confirm a reality he knows is there, but which he has not experienced.
Love is like trench warfare - you cannot see the enemy, but you know he is there and that it is wiser to keep your head down.
I am just a refugee from the long slow toothache of English life. It is terrible to love life so much you can hardly breathe!
A diary is the last place to go if you wish to seek the truth about a person. Nobody dares to make the final confession to themselves on paper: or at least, not about love.
The loved object is simply one that has shared an experience at the same moment of time, narcissistically; and the desire to be near the beloved object is at first not due to the idea of possessing it, but simply to let the two experiences compare themselves, like reflections in different mirrors. All this may precede the first look, kiss, or touch; precede ambition, pride, or envy; precede the first declarations which mark the turning point—for from here love degenerates into habit, possession, and back to loneliness.
Truth is a woman. That is why it is enigmatic.
That party last night was awfully crazy I wish we taped it I danced my ass off and had this one girl completely.
Just heard who made who by acdc and asked a ry what movie? He had no idea. Disappointed. He will be doing my laundry today.
Of many magics, one is watching a beloved sleep: free of eyes and awareness, you for a sweet moment hold the heart of him; helpless, he is then all, and however irrationally, you have trusted him to be, man-pure, child-tender.
I trusted her about as far as I could throw her. I was strong and she was small, but it still wasn't very far.