February dawn -- frost on the path Where I paced all winter.
Vanity of vanitiesโฆ all is vanity.โ You kill yourself to get to the grave. Especially you kill yourself to get to the grave before you die; and the name of the grave is โsuccessโ, the name of that grave is hullabullo boom boom horseshit.
I just won't sleep," I decided. There were so many other interesting things to do.
The happiness consists in realizing that it is all a great strange dream.
This was a manuscript of the night we couldnโt read.
Rather, I think one should write, as nearly as possible, as if he were the first person on earth and was humbly and sincerly putting on paper that which he saw and experienced and loved and lost; what his passing thoughts were and his sorrows and desires.