A lack of sexuality so total that her smart clothes and too heavy make-up made her pathetic; like an unsuccessful geisha.

Meadows carpeted with buttercups, like slabs of gold in the somber forest.

There are only two races on this planet, the intelligent and the stupid.

Our stereotyping societies force us to feel more alone. They stamp masks on us and isolate out real selves. We all live in two worlds: the old comfortable man-centred world of absolutes and the harsh real world of relatives. The latter, the relativity reality, terrifies us; and isolates and dwarfs us all.

It must essentially remain a novel of adolescence written by a retarded adolescent.

Baseball and cricket are beautiful and highly stylized medieval war substitutes, chess made flesh, a mixture of proud chivalry and base in both senses greed.

There comes a time in each life like a point of fulcrum. At that time you must accept yourself. It is not anymore what you will become. It is what you are and always will be.

One writes things and the implications shriek- it’s like suddenly realizing one’s deaf.

And I just can’t live in this present. I would go mad if I did.

As if that solves everything, as if to hate something means it can’t have affected you.