I Am Tired. My Arm Aches. My

I Will See This Game Of Life Out To Its Bitter End

Where I Was Raised A Woman's Word Was Law. I Ain't Quite Outgrowed That Yet.

What Makes Life Worth Living? Better Surely, To Yield To The Stain Of Suicide Blood In Me And Seek Forgetfulness In The Embrace Of Cold Dark Death.

Realism Is Death To Me. I Cannot Stand Life As It Is.

Before Exulatation Had Vanished, I Felt As If I Had Been Granted A Marvellous Privilege. Out Of The Inscrutable Waters A Beautiful Fish Had Somehow Leaped To Show Me Fleetingly The Life And Spirit Of His Element.