The Human Creature Is Alone In His

I Only Asked My Friends To Be Friendly And Polite, I Found Them Indifferent And Censorious; The One I Left To Silence, The Other To Reproach: God Send Me Over All Such Friends Victorious.

I'll Have Your Heart, If Not By Gift My Knife Shall Carve It Out. I'll Have Your Heart, Your Life.

But One Wants The Idea Of Death, You Know, As Something Large And Unknowable, Something That Allows A Person To Stretch Himself Out. Especially One Wants It If One Is Tired. Or Perhaps What One Wants Is Simply A Release From Sensation, From All Consciousness For Ever.

The Flower And Fruit Of Love Are Mine The Ant, The Fieldmouse And The Mole

Oh Lion In A Peculiar Guise, Sharp Roman Road To Paradise, Come Eat Me Up, I'll Pay Thy Toll With All My Flesh, And Keep My Soul.