Now something so sad has hold of us that the breath leaves and we can't even cry.

Those who escape hell however never talk about it and nothing much bothers them after that

from the beginning, through the middle years and up to the end: too bad, too bad, too bad.

I want to let her know though that all the nights sleeping beside her even the useless arguments were things ever splendid and the hard words I ever feared to say can now be said: I love you.

There's nothing unusual about love.

I suppose like others I have come through fire and sword, love gone wrong, head-on crashes, drunk at sea, and I have listened to the simple sound of water running in tubs and wished to drown

Complaint is often the result of an insufficient ability to live within the obvious restrictions of this god damned cage.