Hold The Old Holding Hand. Hold And

I Knew It Would Soon Be The End, So I Played The Part, You Know, The Part Of — How Shall I Say, I Don’t Know.

In My Head There Are Several Windows, That I Do Know, But Perhaps It Is Always The Same One, Open Variously On The Parading Universe.

My Dear Tom, Delighted To Get Your Letter. Do Write Again. This Life Is Terrible And I Don't Understand How It Can Be Endured.

Imagination At Wit's End Spreads Its Sad Wings.

If You Do Not Love Me I Shall Not Be Loved If I Do Not Love You I Shall Not Love.