You must have some money if you are going to live simply. It need not be much, but you must have some.

See the cat at love, rolling with its sweetheart, up and over, with shriek and moan. But if a person comes by, they break away, sit separate upon a fence washing their faces - and might never have met at all.

You must have some money if you are going to live simply. It need not be much, but you must have some.

But one wants the idea of Death, you know, as something large and unknowable, something that allows a person to stretch himself out. Especially one wants it if one is tired. Or perhaps what one wants is simply a release from sensation, from all consciousness for ever.

My Muse sits forlorn She wishes she had not been born She sits in the cold No word she says is ever told.

Love is not love that wounded bleeds And bleeding sullies slow. Come death within my hands and I Unto my love will go.

Life may be treacherous, but you can always depend on death.