In spite of everything, I still have my good old sense of humor.

At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do.

Ever since I was small I loved feeling somebody comb my hair. It made me go all sleepy & peaceful.

I am I-I am powerful, but to what extent? I am I.

Is anyone anywhere happy?

It was like the first time i saw a cadaver. For weeks afterward the cadavers head, or what was left of it - floated up behind my eggs and bacon at breakfast and in the face of Buddy Willard, who was responsible for my seeing it in the first place, and pretty soon I felt as though I were carrying that cadavers head around with me on a string, like some black, noseless balloon stinking of vinegar.

My best friends when I was young were always doctors. I used to dress up in a white gauze helmet and go round and see babies born and cadavers cut open. This fascinated me, but I could never bring myself to disciplining myself to the point where I could learn all the details that one has to learn to be a good doctor. This is the sort of opposition: somebody who deals directly with human experiences, is able to cure, to mend, to help, this sort of thing.