“I don't know how much longer I can keep going without a friend. I used to be able to do it very easily, but that was before I knew what having a friend was like.”

“I don't want our relationship to end like this. You're one of the very few friends I have, and it hurts not being able to see you. When am I going to be able to talk to you? I want you to tell me that much, at least.”

“Don't think you can get rid of me that easily. As long as I'm around, you'll never be alone. I do have my reputationto uphold as your, uh, very, close friend, you know. Heck, I'm going to be around so much, you'll probably be begging me to leave.”

“Within his orbit, I was nothing but a flat noodle. And I don't know how much longer I can keep this up.”

“You do not know how much they mean to me, my friends,And how, how rare and strange it is, to findIn a life composed so much, so much of odds and ends,(For indeed I do not love it ... you knew? you are not blind! How keen you are!)To find a friend who has these qualities,Who has, and givesThose qualities upon which friendship lives.How much it means that I say this to you-Without these friendships-life, what cauchemar!”

“I don't know what I'd do if for some reason I was no longer able to write. Commit murder, perhaps. At the very least, torture and mayhem.”