My Mission In Life Is

The Suicide, As She Is Falling, Illuminated By The Moon, Regrets Her Act, And Finds Appalling The Thought She Will Be Dead So Soon.

Vice Is Nice, But A Little Virtue Won't Hurt You.

Not Everything In Life Can Be Interpreted Metaphorically; That's Because Things Fall Out On The Way.

Neither Mine Nor Other People's Prospects Seem Particularly Pleasing Just At The Moment, And I Have Fantasies Of Going To Iceland, Never To Return. As It Is, I Tell Myself Not To Remember The Past, Not To Hope Or Fear For The Future, And Not To Think In The Present, A Comprehensive Program That Will Undoubtedly Have Very Little Success.

I Don't Think Anything Might Have Been. What Is, Is.