A Book Is A Suicide Postponed.

Intelligence Flourishes Only In The Ages When Belief Withers.

By What Aberration Has Suicide, The Only Truly Normal Action, Become The Attribute Of The Flawed?

Do I Look Like Someone Who Has Something To Do Here On Earth?' —that's What I'd Like To Answer The Busybodies Who Inquire Into My Activities.

What Does The Future, That Half Of Time, Matter To The Man Who Is Infatuated With Eternity?

I Have All The Defects Of Other People Yet Everything They Do Seems To Me Inconceivable.