No, I Regret Nothing, All

I Pause To Record That I Feel In Extraordinary Form. Delirium Perhaps.

Nothing Is Funnier Than Unhappiness.

I Knew It Would Soon Be The End, So I Played The Part, You Know, The Part Of — How Shall I Say, I Don’t Know.

The Only Sin Is The Sin Of Being Born.

All I Know Is What The Words Know, And Dead Things, And That Makes A Handsome Little Sum, With A Beginning And A Middle And An End, As In The Well-built Phrase And The Long Sonata Of The Dead.