Thursday, 30th July 1936
My writing is really ghastly sometimes. It’s because – mainly – I won’t work. I am terribly lazy and childish.
Wednesday, 16th September 1936
Well I felt so much like writing in this journal for a change that I went all the way downstairs to get a pencil. A miserable pencil so I won’t write much though I have so much to tell.
Wednesday, 13th January 1937
Disgust! Drank coffee to write. Got the jitters so bad had to stop. Took a sleeping pill and then a mebral. Felt like I was blowing up. Read over plays. All seemed utter trash – why the hell do I take myself so seriously?
Sunday, 20th June 1937
…maybe I am not a poet but just a blooming idiot.
Now I feel very quiet inside – may try to write some more – No use giving up – Giving up is not my cardinal sin.
From the Notebooks of Tennessee Williams.