Be Again, Be Again. (pause.) All That

There's Man All Over For You, Blaming On His Boots The Fault Of His Feet.

Light Black. From Pole To Pole.

We All Are Born Mad. Some Remain So.

I Had Little Talent For Happiness.

It Is Right That He Too Should Have His Little Chronicle, His Memories, His Reason, And Be Able To Recognize The Good In The Bad, The Bad In The Worst, And So Grow Gently Old Down All The Unchanging Days, And Die One Day Like Any Other Day, Only Shorter.