I Am Tired. My Arm Aches. My

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

It Was A Decent New Year's, But It Took A Million Officers To Make It So.

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.

Every Once In A While I Feel The Tremendous Force Of The Novel. But It Does Not Stay With Me.

The Indian Story Has Never Been Written. Maybe I Am The Man To Do It.