Then I Went Back Into The House

Yes, There Is No Denying It, Any Longer, It Is Not You Who Are Dead, But All The Others. So You Get Up And Go To Your Mother, Who Thinks She Is Alive. That's My Impression. But Now I Shall Have To Get Myself Out Of This Ditch. How Joyfully I Would Vanish Here, Sinking Deeper And Deeper Under The Rains.

Nothing Matters But The Writing. There Has Been Nothing Else Worthwhile... A Stain Upon The Silence.

My Notes Have A Curious Tendency, As I Realize At Last, To Annihilate All They Purport To Record.

With All This Darkness Round Me I Feel Less Alone.

To Him Who Has Nothing It Is Forbidden Not To Relish Filth.