The end of a life is always vivifying.
What goes by the name of love is banishment, with now and then a postcard from the homeland, such is my considered opinion, this evening.
Women are all the bloody sameyou can't love for five minutes without wanting it abolished in brats and house bloody wifery.
Dear incomprehension, it's thanks to you I'll be myself, in the end.
I pause to record that I feel in extraordinary form. Delirium perhaps.
It's a rare thing not to have been bonny-- once.