I do not need any friends. I prefer enemies. They are better company and their feelings towards you are always genuine.

Come on up, boys -I'm dead.

Nothing grows in our garden, only washing. And babies.

Love drips & gathers, but the fallen blood Shall calm her sores..." -Thomas, The Force that through the green fuse drives the flower.

I think, that if I touched the earth, It would crumble; It is so sad and beautiful, So tremulously like a dream.

Me, Polly Garter, under the washing line, giving the breast in the garden to my bonny new baby. Nothing grows in our garden, only washing. And babies. And where's their fathers live, my love? Over the hills and far away. You're looking up at me now. I know what you're thinking, you poor little milky creature. You're thinking, you're no better than you should be, Polly, and that's good enough for me. Oh, isn't life a terrible thing, thank God?

These are but dreaming men. Breathe, and they fade.