Love, Arthur, Is A Poodle's Chance Of

Not Much Music Left Inside Us For Life To Dance To. Our Youth Has Gone To The Ends Of The Earth To Die In The Silence Of The Truth. And Where, I Ask You, Can A Man Escape To, When He Hasn't Enough Madness Left Inside Him? The Truth Is An Endless Death Agony. The Truth Is Death. You Have To Choose: Death Or Lies. I've Never Been Able To Kill Myself.

When Men Can Hate Without Risk, Their Stupidity Is Easily Convinced, The Motives Supply Themselves.

In My Room I'd Barely Closed My Eyes When The Blonde From The Movie House Came Along And Sang Her Whole Song Of Sorrow Just For Me. I Helped Her Put Me To Sleep, So To Speak, And Succeeded Pretty Well... I Wasn't Entirely Alone... It's Not Possible To Sleep Alone.

Our Journey Is Entirely Imaginary. That Is Its Strength.

The Whole Business Of Your Life Overwhelms You When You Live Alone. One's Stupefied By It. To Get Rid Of It You Try To Daub Some Of It Off On To People Who Come To See You, And They Hate That. To Be Alone Trains One For Death.