We Make Our Own Hell Out Of

The Consciousness That Says 'i Am' Is Not The Consciousness That Thinks.

I Considered Calmly That I Was Born To Write.

Good Digestions, The Gray Monotony Of Provincial Life, And The Boredom-ah The Soul-destroying Boredom-of Long Days Of Mild Content.

You Are -- Your Life, And Nothing Else.

A Good Hanging Now And Then -- That Entertains Folk In The Provinces And Robs Death Of Its Glamour.