All In All, Death Is Something Like

I Was A Hundred-percent Sick, I Felt As If I Had No Further Use For My Legs, They Just Hung Over The Edge Of My Bed Like Unimportant And Rather Ridiculous Objects.

Most People Die At The Last Minute; Others Twenty Years Beforehand, Some Even Earlier. They Are The Wretched Of The Earth.

When You Stay Too Long In The Same Place, Things And People Go To Pot On You, They Rot And Start Stinking For Your Special Benefit.

Never Believe Straight Off In A Man's Unhappiness. Ask Him If He Can Still Sleep. If The Answer's "yes," All's Well. That Is Enough.

To Hell With Reality! I Want To Die In Music, Not In Reason Or In Prose.