Make Sense Who May. I Switch Off.

My Notes Have A Curious Tendency, As I Realize At Last, To Annihilate All They Purport To Record.

It's Impossible I Should Have A Mind And I Have One

Let Us Do Something, While We Have The Chance! ... Let Us Make The Most Of It, Before It Is Too Late! Let Us Represent Worthily For One The Foul Brood To Which A Cruel Fate Consigned Us!

Dance First. Think Later. It's The Natural Order.

That Desert Of Loneliness And Recrimination That Men Call Love.