Such excess of passion is quite out of fashion
I thought I'd be a librarian until I met some crazy ones.
Interviewer: What is your greatest regret? Gorey: That I don't have one
A small and sinister snow seems to be coming down relentlessly at present. The radio says it is eventually going to be sleet and rain, but I don't think so; I think it is just going to go on and on, coming down, until the whole world...etc. It has that look.
I tend to be rather inconsequential and trail off.
Ideally, if anything [was] any good, it would be indescribable.
The Suicide, as she is falling, Illuminated by the moon, Regrets her act, and finds appalling The thought she will be dead so soon.
The world may think it idiotic, Nor care at all we're symbiotic, But I will say at once and twice: I find it nice. I find it nice.
I've never had any intentions about anything. That's why I am where I am today, which is neither here nor there, in a literal sense.
I feel that I am doing the minimum amount of damage to other possibilities that may take place in a reader's head.
I realize that homosexuality is a serious problem for anyone who is - but then, of course, heterosexuality is a serious problem for anyone who is, too. And being a man is a serious problem and being a woman is, too. Lots of things are problems.
All the things you can talk about in anyone's work are the things that are least important.
If I do not seem to be mentioning anything I’ve read lately, it is because I am in one of those periods of undifferentiated flux or something in which I am reading about fifty, at a minimum, books at once, so of course I seldom finish one. Eventually this phase will pass, and I’ll discover I have about ten pages to go in all of them, and will sit down and systematically finish them, one after another.
...my least favorite actress of all time, Helena Bonham Carter. I find her lack of a neck very off-putting and especially her acting.
Not everything in life can be interpreted metaphorically; that's because things fall out on the way.
Mr Earbrass stands on the terrace at twilight. It is bleak; it is cold; and the virtue has gone out of everything. Words drift through his mind: anguish turnips conjunctions illness defeat string parties no parties urns desuetude disaffection claws loss Trebizond napkins shame stones distance fever Antipodes mush glaciers incoherence labels miasma amputation tides deceit mourning elsewards.
There was a young lady named Mae Who smoked without stopping all day; As pack followed pack, Her lungs first turned black, And eventually rotted away.
Having got into bed and turned out the light, I quietly burst into tears because I am not a good person. As they came and went for some minutes, I was concerned with the words following 'because' in the previous sentence, rewriting them over and over in my head until they seemed to be as close to the truth as it was possible for me to make them.
I really think I write about everyday life. I don't think I'm quite as odd as others say I am.
I don't know what it is I'm doing. But it's not that. Despite all evidence to the contrary.
If you're doing nonsense it has to be rather awful, because there'd be no point.
Z is for Zillah who drank too much gin.
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