I am disabused of all faith, and see too clearly.

I am myself. That is not enough.

I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets.

I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.

If I didn't think, I'd be much happier; if I didn't have any sex organs, I wouldn't waver on the brink of nervous emotion and tears all the time.

I like you, but not too much. I don’t want to like anybody too much.

If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression Of something beautiful, but annihilating.