Happiness Is Something That Comes Into Our

Houses Are The Abiding Joys; They Are The Most Emotion-stirring Of All Things. An Automobile Is Regarded With Fond Affection, A Typewriter Becomes The Inseparable Companion, Clothes Can Stir Sentimentality, And The Bit Of Bric-a-brac Is A Toy One Would Weep To See Torn Away - But Houses Are Real, Deep, Emotional Things. How Much Excitement In The Cutting Of A Window, What Enormous Importance In The Angle Of A Roof!

What I Can't Understand Is, How Can Anybody Figure Now That The Government Can Support Us, When We Support The Government.

I Ask Myself, 'why Am I So Lazy?' And Am Too Lazy To Reply.

Writing Fiction Is An Endless And Always Defeated Effort To Capture Some Quality Of Life Without Killing It.

I Am Too Sick To Work And Haven't Money Enough To Last 2 Months And Pay Income Tax. I Want To Keep Going But Do Not See Quite How, And There Is No Alternative - Rather Than Justify My Mother's 25-year Dread Of My "coming Back On Her, Sick," I Must Kill Myself. If She Has To Pay Funeral Costs, At Least She Will Cut Them To The Bone And I Will Not Be Here To Endure Her Martyrdom And Prolong It By Living.