Nothing is funnier than unhappiness.

Poets are the sense, philosophers the intelligence of humanity.

With all this darkness round me I feel less alone.

I marshalled the words and opened my mouth, thinking I would hear them. But all I heard was a kind of rattle, unintelligible even to me who knew what was intended.

Name, no, nothing is nameable, tell, no, nothing can be told, what then, I don't know, I shouldn't have begun.

Hold the old holding hand. Hold and be held. Plod on and never recede. Slowly with never a pause plod on and never recede.

Abode where lost bodies roam each searching for its lost one.