Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.

We have reason to be afraid. This is a terrible place.

That is our ‘pointed task. Love & die.

I cry. Evil dissolves, & love, like foam; that love. Prattle of children powers me home, my heart claps like the swan's under a frenzy of who love me & who shine.

I can offer you only: this world like a knife

Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so. After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns, we ourselves flash and yearn, and moreover my mother told me as a boy (repeatedly) 'Ever to confess you're bored means you have no inner Resources.' I conclude now I have no inner resources, because I am heavy bored.

I am so wise I had my mouth sewn shut.