the history of melancholia includes all of us.

she knew what she wanted and it wasn't / me. / I know more women like that than any / other kind.

‎"she’ mad but she’ magic. there’ no lie in her fire.

I am a series of small victories and large defeats.

the last cigarettes are smoked, the loaves are sliced, and lest this be taken for wry sorrow, drown the spider in wine. you are much more than simply dead: I am a dish for your ashes, I am a fist for your vanished air. the most terrible thing about life is finding it gone.

I've found out why men sign their names to their works- not that they created them but more than the others did not.

and I laugh, I can still laugh, who can't laugh when the whole thing is so ridiculous that only the insane, the clowns, the half-wits, the cheaters, the whores, the horseplayers, the bankrobbers, the poets ... are interesting?