The Sun Shone, Having No Alternative, On

I Had Little Talent For Happiness.

It Is Right That He Too Should Have His Little Chronicle, His Memories, His Reason, And Be Able To Recognize The Good In The Bad, The Bad In The Worst, And So Grow Gently Old Down All The Unchanging Days, And Die One Day Like Any Other Day, Only Shorter.

If I Was Dead, I Wouldn't Know I Was Dead. That's The Only Thing I Have Against Death. I Want To Enjoy My Death.

That Double-headed Monster Of Damnation And Salvation--time.

How Hideous Is The Semicolon.