The Last Time You Were Happy About

Love Was A Terrible Thing. You Poisoned It And Stabbed At It And Knocked It Down Into The Mud - Well Down - And It Got Up And Staggered On, Bleeding And Muddy And Awful. Like - Like Rasputin.

You Can Pretend For A Long Time, But One Day It All Falls Away And You Are Alone. We Are Alone In The Most Beautiful Place In The World.

She Haunted Him, As An Ungenerous Action Haunts One.

I Am Empty Of Everything. I Am Empty Of Everything But The Thin, Frail Ghosts In My Room.

I Have Tried," I Said, "but He Does Not Believe Me. It Is Too Late For That Now" (it Is Always Too Late For Truth, I Thought).