Perhaps, perhaps this would be the one to pull me out of my plunge.
The first time I saw a fingerbowl was at the home of my benefactress. [...] The water had a few cherry blossoms in it, and I thought it must be some clear sort of Japanese after-dinner soup and ate every bit of it, including the crisp little blossoms.
I donโt care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual.
Is anyone anywhere happy?
I, love, I am the pure acetylene virgin attended by roses.
I am disabused of all faith, and see too clearly.