before I could read, almost a baby, I imagined that God, this strange thing or person I heard about, was a book.

Next week, or next month, or next year I will kill myself. But I might as well last out my month's rent, which has been paid up.

I am the only real truth I know.

Some must cry so that others may be able to laugh the more heartily. Sacrifices are necessary.

Now at last I know why I was brought here and what I have to do.

Cold - cold as truth, cold as life. No, nothing can be as cold as life.

Quite like old times,' the room says.