All The Same It Is Being Said

It Is Dreadful When Something Weighs On Your Mind, Not To Have A Soul To Unburden Yourself To. You Know What I Mean. I Tell My Piano The Things I Used To Tell You.

My Manuscripts Sleep, While I Cannot, For I Am Covered With Poultices.

Man Is Never Always Happy, And Very Often Only A Brief Period Of Happiness Is Granted Him In This World; So Why Escape From This Dream Which Cannot Last Long?

I'm A Revolutionary, Money Means Nothing To Me.

Oh, How Miserable It Is To Have No One To Share Your Sorrows And Joys, And, When Your Heart Is Heavy, To Have No Soul To Whom You Can Pour Out Your Woes.