At Twenty I Tried To Die And

I Want To Force Myself Again And Again To Leave The Warmth And Security Of Static Situations And Move Into The World Of Growth And Suffering Where The Real Books Are People's Minds And Souls.

I Shut My Eyes And All The World Drops Dead; I Lift My Eyes And All Is Born Again.

A Little Thing, Like Children Putting Flowers In My Hair, Can Fill Up The Widening Cracks In My Self-assurance Like Soothing Lanolin.

I Suppose If I Gave Myself The Chance I Could Be An Alcoholic.

I Can't Be Satisfied With The Colossal Job Of Merely Living.