I felt like a racehorse in a world without racetracks.

Oh, something is there, waiting for me. Perhaps someday the revelation will burst in upon me and I will see the other side of this monumental grotesque joke. And then I'll laugh. And then I'll know what life is.

I feel self-repressed again. The old fall disease. Where is my willpower? The idea of a life gets in the way of my life...I dream too much, work too little.

The blood jet is poetry and there is no stopping it.

Eternity bores me, I never wanted it.

The silence drew off, baring the pebbles and shells and all the tatty wreckage of my life.

Then I decided I would spend the summer writing a novel. That would fix a lot of people.