Everything free and decent in life is being locked away in filthy little cellars by beastly people who don’t care. - John Fowles

I did not pray for her, because prayer has no efficacy; I did not cry for her, or for myself, because only extroverts cry twice; but I sat in the silence of that night, that infinite hostility to man, to permanence, to love, remembering her, remembering her.

There was a bright wind, it was a Dufy day, all bustle, movement, animated colour..

I was worse off than even Alison was; she hated life, I hated mysef. I had created nothing, I belonged to nothingness, to the néant, and it seemed to me that my own death was the only thing left that I could create.