I am so far from being a pessimist...on the contrary, in spite of my scars, I am tickled to death at life.
Writing is my vacation from living.
The devil! what beastly things our memories insist on cherishing!
What's the use coming home to get the blues over what can't be helped.
How thick the fog is. I can't see the road. All the people in the world could pass by and I would never know. I wish it was always that way. It's getting dark already. It will soon be night, thank goodness.
Curiosity killed the cat.