Unhappy, But Not Unhappy Enough.

That's The Mistake I Made, One Of The Mistakes, To Have Wanted A Story For Myself, Whereas Life Alone Is Enough.

All Life Long, The Same Questions, The Same Answers.

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

It Is Right That He Too Should Have His Little Chronicle, His Memories, His Reason, And Be Able To Recognize The Good In The Bad, The Bad In The Worst, And So Grow Gently Old Down All The Unchanging Days, And Die One Day Like Any Other Day, Only Shorter.

Do You Always Believe In The Life To Come? Mine Was Always That.