I can't deceive myself out of the bare stark realization that no matter how enthusiastic you are, no matter how sure that character is fate, nothing is real, past or future, when you are alone in your room with the clock ticking loudly into the false cheerful brilliance of the electric light. And if you have no past or future which, after all, is all that the present is made of, why then you may as well dispose of the empty shell of present and commit suicide.

The thought that I might kill myself formed in my mind coolly as a tree or a flower.

What a man wants is a mate and what a woman wants is infinite security,’ and, ‘What a man is is an arrow into the future and a what a woman is is the place the arrow shoots off from.

Spiderlike, I spin mirrors, Loyal to my image.

God has to remind us this isn't heaven by a long shot, so he increases the radios and lethal flies.

My flesh winced, in cowardice, from such a death.

I talk to God but the sky is empty.