But there's no joy at all, people say "Oh well he's drunk and happy let him sleep it off"--The poor drunkard is *crying*--He's crying for his mother and father and great brother and great friend, he's crying for help. (p.111)

Pretty girls make graves

And with joy you realize for the first time "Thinking's just like not thinking — So I don't have to think any more".

a fool forgetting all the ideals and joys I knew before, in my recent years of drinking and disappointment, what does he care if he hasn't got any money: he doesn't need any money, all he needs is his rucksack with those little plastic bags of dried food and a good pair of shoes and off he goes and enjoys the privileges of a millionaire in surroundings like this.

In my medicine cabinet, the winter fly has died of old age.

cliches are truisms and all truisms are true

One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.