In a few days I'll have lived one score and three days in this vale of tears. On I plod-always bored, often drunk, doing no penance for my faults-rather do I become more tolerant of myself from day to day, hardening my crystal heart with blasphemous humor and shunning only toothpicks, pathos, and poverty as being the three unforgivable things in life.

Beautiful things grow to a certain height and then they fail and fade off, breathing out memories as they decay.

This is what I think now: that the natural state of the sentient adult is a qualified unhappiness.

And in the end, we were all just humans...Drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness.

He was so terrible that he was no longer terrible, only dehumanized.

I was a little shocked at the elaborateness of the lie.

Your life on earth will be, as always, the interval between two significant glances in a mundane mirror.