All I Want To Do Is Sit

The Reality Of The Individualis An Incoherent Reality And Must Be Expressed Incoherently.

My Dear Tom, Delighted To Get Your Letter. Do Write Again. This Life Is Terrible And I Don't Understand How It Can Be Endured.

Don't Look For Meaning In The Words. Listen To The Silences.

Decidedly It Will Never Have Been Given To Me To Finish Anything, Except Perhaps Breathing. One Must Not Be Greedy.

What Do We Do Now, Now That We Are Happy?