My dear Tom, Delighted to get your letter. Do write again. This life is terrible and I don't understand how it can be endured.

The memory came faint and cold of the story I might have told, a story in the likeness of my life, I mean without the courage to end or the strength to go on.

If I had the use of my body, I would throw it out the window.

I use the words you taught me. If they don't mean anything any more, teach me others. Or let me be silent.

That passed the time. It would have passed in any case. Yes, but not so rapidly.

I cannot explain my plays. Each must find out for himself what is meant

I still smile it's not worth the trouble any more for a long time now it's not been worth the trouble the tongue spring goes into the mud I stay like this not thirsty any more the tongue goes back into the mouth it closes it has to make a straight line now it's done I've made the image.