Never Insult Seven Men When All Your

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

Writing Was Like Digging Coal. I Sweat Blood. The Spell Is On Me.

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.

What Is Writing But An Expression Of My Own Life?

Fishing Is A Condition Of Mind Wherein You Cannot Possibly Have A Bad Time.