I was very lighthearted. This often the way when the abandonment of personal responsibility is enforced: neither wronged innocence or just guilt can seriously impair the sensation of freedom one has.

I wrote much because I was paid little. I had no great desire to leave a literary name behind me.

Death comes along like a gas bill one can't pay.

Suddenly, I viddied what I had to do, and what I had wanted to do, and that was to do myself in; to snuff it, to blast off for ever out of this wicked, cruel world. One moment of pain perhaps and, then, sleep forever, and ever and ever.

For the serious artist does not satisfy needs

How wicked, my brothers, innocent milk must always seem to me now.

All human life is here, but the Holy Ghost seems to be somewhere else.