“I don't feel any way,' the girl said. 'I just know things.”

“I've never loved any one else the way I love you. I'm full of poetry now. Rot and poetry. Rotten poetry.''Stop it. Harry, why do you have to turn into a devil now?''I don't like to leave anything,' the man said. 'I don't like to leave things behind.”

“I don't like to leave anything,' the man said. 'I don't like to leave things behind.”

“Do you suffer when you write? I don't at all. Suffer like a bastard when don't write, or just before, and feel empty and fucked out afterwards. But never feel as good as while writing.”

“You know I don't love any one but you. You shouldn't mind because some one else loved me.”

“Don't you like to write letters? I do because it's such a swell way to keep from working and yet feel you've done something.”

“The war was a long way away. Maybe there wasn't any war. There was no war here. Then I realized it was over for me. But I did not have the feeling that it was really over. I had the feeling of a boy who thinks of what is happening at a certain hour at the schoolhouse from which he has played truant.”