No, I regret nothing, all I regret is having been born, dying is such a long tiresome business I always found.

To every man his little cross. Till he dies. And is forgotten.

Light black. From pole to pole.

I want very much to be back in the caul, on my back in the dark forever.

Birth was the death of him.

Suffering is the main condition of the artistic experience.

If I were in the unenviable position of having to study my work my points of departure would be the "Naught is more real ..." and the "Ubi nihil vales ..." both already in Murphy and neither very rational.