I know. I'm very hard to talk to. I realize that.
I don't know what good it is to know so much and be smart as whips and all if it doesn't make you happy.
I'm sick of not having the courage to be an absolute nobody. I'm sick of myself and everybody else that wants to make some kind of a splash.
Just go to bed, now. Quickly. Quickly and slowly.
Your heart, Bessie, is an autumn garage.
Oh, this happiness is strong stuff.