He poured the tumbler full. Drink up, he said. The world goes on. We have dancing nightly and this night is no exception. The straight and the winding way are one and now that you are here what do the years count since last we two met together? Men's memories are uncertain and the past that was differs little from the past that was not.

Borrowed time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it.

She was gone and the coldness of it was her final gift.

There was someone there and they had been there. There was no one there. There was someone there and they had been there and they had not left but there was no one there.

For things at a common destination there is a common path. Not always easy to see. But there.

Life is brief and to have to spend every day of it doing what somebody else wants you to do is not the way to live it.

I yearn for the darkness. I pray for death. Real death. If I thought that in death I would meet the people I've known in life I don't know what I'd do. That would be the ultimate horror. The ultimate despair. If I had to meet my mother again and start all of that all over, only this time without the prospect of death to look forward to? Well. That would be the final nightmare. Kafka on wheels.