Oh Salty Sea, How Much Of Your

Everything Is Absurd.

Whether Or Not They Exist We Are Slaves To Our Gods.

I Look For Myself But Find No One. I Belong To The Chrysanthemum Hour Of Bright Flowers Placed In Tall Vases. I Should Make An Ornament Of My Soul.

Literature Exists Because The World Isn't Enough.

I Realize That, While Often Happy And Often Cheerful, I Am Always Sad.