I Am Not Cruel, Only Truthful.

I Have A Violence In Me That Is Hot As Death-blood.

Look At That Ugly Dead Mask Here And Do Not Forget It. It Is A Chalk Mask With Dead Dry Poison Behind It, Like The Death Angel. It Is What I Was This Fall, And What I Never Want To Be Again. The Pouting Disconsolate Mouth, The Flat, Bored, Numb, Expressionless Eyes: Symptoms Of The Foul Decay Within.

England Offers New Comforts. I Could Write A Novel There.

The Slime Of All My Yesterdays Rots In The Hollow Of My Skull.

What Is So Real As The Cry Of A Child?