My Eyes Feel All Soft, All Soft

As For Me, I Am Mean: That Means That I Need The Suffering Of Others To Exist. A Flame. A Flame In Their Hearts. When I Am All Alone, I Am Extinguished.

A Human Being Who Wakened In The Morning With A Queesy Stomach, With Fifteen Hours To Kill Before Next Bedtime, Had Not Much Use For Freedom.

This Desire [to Write] Is Rather Strange All The Same And Is Not Without A Certain "cracked" Quality.

A Lost Battle Is A Battle One Thinks One Has Lost.

What Is Life But An Unpleasant Interruption To A Peaceful Nonexistence.