My Flesh Winced, In Cowardice, From Such

I Laid My Face To The Smooth Face Of The Marble And Howled My Loss Into The Cold Salt Rain.

So Much Working, Reading, Thinking, Living To Do. A Lifetime Is Not Long Enough. Nor Youth To Old Age Long Enough. Immortality And Permanence Be Damned. Sure I Want Them, But They Are Nonexistent, And Won't Matter When I Rot Underground. All I Want To Say Is: I Made The Best Of A Mediocre Job. It Was A Good Fight While It Lasted. And So Life Goes.

Is There No Way Out Of The Mind?

I Am Gone Quite Mad With The Knowledge Of Accepting The Overwhelming Number Of Things I Can Never Know, Places I Can Never Go, And People I Can Never Be.

Go Out And Do Something. It Isn’t Your Room That’s A Prison, It’s Yourself.