Joan Of Arc Had Style.

As A Recluse I Couldn't Bear Traffic. It Had Nothing To Do With Jealousy, I Simply Disliked People, Crowds, Anywhere, Except At My Readings. People Diminished Me, They Sucked Me Dry.

My Beerdrunk Soul Is Sadder Than All The Dead Christmas Trees Of The World.

It's Not The Large Things That Send A Man To The Madhouse... No, It's The Continuing Series Of Small Tragedies... Not The Death Of His Love But The Shoelace That Snaps With No Time Left.

I Was An Agnostic. Agnostics Didn't Have Much To Argue About.

I'm Too Careless. I Don't Put Out Enough Effort. I'm Tired.