Death Will Come In Any

Self-expression Is A Hard And Selfish Thing. It Eats Everything, Even The Self. At The End You Find You Haven't Even Got A Self To Express.

We Can Love With Our Minds, But Can We Love Only With Our Minds? Love Extends Itself All The Time, So That We Can Love Even With Our Senseless Nails: We Love Even With Our Clothes, So That A Sleeve Can Feel A Sleeve.

I Can Never Think Of You As A Friend. You Can Do Without A Friend.

So Much Of Life [is] A Putting-off Of Unhappiness For Another Time. Nothing [is] Ever Lost By Delay.

I Hate You, God. I Hate You As Though You Actually Exist.