Memory Was Such A Worthless Thing, Really.

I Can Get Pissed Off Very Easily.

Quiet Is Here And All In Me. ("dress Of White Silk")

…they Think Of Suicide As A Quick Route To Oblivion, An Escape. Far From It. It Merely Alters A Person From One Form To Another. Nothing Can Destroy The Spirit. Suicide Only Precipitates A Darker Continuation Of The Same Conditions From Which Escape Was Sought. A Condition Under Circumstances So Much More Painful.

After A While, Though, Even The Deepest Sorrow Faltered, Even The Most Penetrating Despair Lost Its Scalpel Edge.

In A World Of Monotonous Horror There Could Be No Salvation In Wild Dreaming. Horror He Had Adjusted To. But Monotony Was The Greater Obstacle, And He Realized It Now, Understood It At Long Last. And Understanding It Seemed To Give Him A Sort Of Quiet Peace, A Sense Of Having Spread All The Cards On His Mental Table, Examined Them, And Settled Conclusively On The Desired Hand.