Life is perhaps best regarded as a bad dream between two awakenings.
What's the use coming home to get the blues over what can't be helped.
We are such things as rubbish is made of, so let's drink up and forget it.
It was a great mistake, my being born a man, I would have been much more successful as a seagull or a fish. As it is, I will always be a stranger who never feels at home, who does not really want and is not really wanted, who can never belong, who must be a little in love with death!
It's a great game - the pursuit of happiness.
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.