It was from the artists and poets that the pertinent answers came, and I know that panic would have broken loose had they been able to compare notes.

Unhappy is he to whom the memories of childhood bring only fear and sadness.

The process of delving into the black abyss is to me the keenest form of fascination.

Who knows the end? What has risen may sink, and what has sunk may rise. Loathsomeness waits and dreams in the deep, and decay spreads over the tottering cities of men.

To be bitter is to attribute intent and personality to the formless, infinite, unchanging and unchangeable void. We drift on a chartless, resistless sea. Let us sing when we can, and forget the rest.

Life is a hideous thing.

I am writing this under an appreciable mental strain, since by tonight I shall be no more. Penniless, and at the end of my supply of the drug which alone makes life endurable, I can bear the torture no longer; and shall cast myself from this garret window into the squalid street below.