Solitude Desolates Me; Company Oppresses Me.

Who Am I To Myself? Just A Feeling Of Mine.

It's In An Inland Sea That The River Of My Life Ended.

Your Poems Are Of Interest To Mankind; Your Liver Isn't. Drink Till You Write Well And Feel Sick. Bless Your Poems And Be Damned To You.

In Order To Understand, I Destroyed Myself.

It Is Noble To Be Shy, Illustrious Not To Know How To Act, Great Not To Have A Gift For Living.