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Just tell me, Percy, do you still have the birthday gift I gave you last summer?" I nodded and pulled out my camp necklace. It had a bead for every summer I'd been at Camp Half-Blood, but since last year I'd also kept a sand dollar on the cord. My father had given it to me for my fifteenth birthday. He'd told me I would know when to "spend it," but so far I hadn't figured out what he meant. All I knew that it didn't fit the vending machines in the school cafeteria.

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Jean Rhys

I sit at my window and the words fly past me like birds — with God's help I catch some.

Bird, Birds, Help, Helping, Like, Past
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I would never be part of anything. I would never really belong anywhere, and I knew it, and all my life would be the same, trying to belong, and failing. Always something would go wrong. I am a stranger and I always will be, and after all I didn’t really care.

Being Yourself, Belong, Care, I Dont Care, Life, Part

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.

Nice, Simple, Glasses, Streets, Happy, Monotonous

All of writing is a huge lake. There are great rivers that feed the lake, like Tolstoy or Dostoyevsky. And then there are mere trickles, like Jean Rhys. All that matters is feeding the lake. I don't matter. The lake matters. You must keep feeding the lake.

Feeding, Huge, Lakes, Rivers, Trickles, Writing

Now I no longer wish to be loved, beautiful, happy or successful. I want one thing and one thing only - to be left alone.

Beautiful, Longer, Successful, Thing, Wish

You can pretend for a long time, but one day it all falls away and you are alone. We are alone in the most beautiful place in the world.

Away, Beautiful, Fall, Long, Time
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