And must I then, indeed, Pain, live with you all through my life?-sharing my fire, my bed, Sharing-oh, worst of all things!-the same head?- And, when I feed myself, feeding you too?

I make bean stalks, I'm A builder, like yourself.

I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death; I am not on his pay-roll.

Strange how few, After alls said and done, the things that are Of moment.

Heap not on this mound roses that she loved so well; why bewilder her with roses that she cannot see or smell.

Please don't think me negligent or rude. I am both, in effect, of course, but please don't think me either.

It's not true that life is one damn thing after another; it is one damn thing over and over.