I Confess That Reading Proofs Is A

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.

Men May Rise On Stepping Stones Of Their Dead Selves To Higher Things.

I Need This Wild Life, This Freedom.

I Am Tired. My Arm Aches. My Head Boils. My Feet Are Cold. But I Am Not Aware Of Any Weakness.

Jealously Was An Unjust And Stifling Thing.