I Am Tired. My Arm Aches. My

Writing Was Like Digging Coal. I Sweat Blood. The Spell Is On Me.

I Am Tired. My Arm Aches. My Head Boils. My Feet Are Cold. But I Am Not Aware Of Any Weakness.

I Am Full Of Fire And Passion. I Am Not Ready Yet For Great Concentration And Passion.

What Makes Life Worth Living? Better Surely, To Yield To The Stain Of Suicide Blood In Me And Seek Forgetfulness In The Embrace Of Cold Dark Death.

Today I Began The Novel That I Determined To Be Great.