The Frost Makes A Flower, The Dew

So Much Working, Reading, Thinking, Living To Do! A Lifetime Is Not Long Enough.

I Have The Choice Of Being Constantly Active And Happy Or Introspectively Passive And Sad. Or I Can Go Mad By Ricocheting In Between.

I Can't Be Satisfied With The Colossal Job Of Merely Living.

I Collect Men With Interesting Names.

I Feel, Am Mad As Any Writer Must In One Way Be; Why Not Make It Real? I Am Too Close To The Bourgeois Society Of Suburbia: Too Close To People I Know I Must Sever My Self From Them, Or Be A Part Of Their World: This Half And Half Compromise Is Intolerable.