I blush to think of our origins—our hands are steeped in blood and crime. And there is no letup to the slaughter and pillage. - Henry Miller

I’m an egotist, but I’m not selfish. There’s a difference. I’m a neurotic, I guess. I can’t stop thinking about myself. It isn’t that I think myself so important... I simply can’t think about anything else, that’s all. If I could fall in love with a woman that might help some. But I can’t find a woman who interests me.

And there is a time, glorious too in its own way, when one scarcely exists, when one is a complete void. I mean, when boredom seems the very stuff of life.

I had a microscopic eye for the blemish, for the grain of ugliness which to me constituted the sole beauty of the object.