I Often Want To Cry. That Is

For The First Time She Had Dimly Realized That Only The Hopeless Are Starkly Sincere And That Only The Unhappy Can Either Give Or Take Sympathy--even Some Of The Bitter And Dangerous Voluptuousness Of Misery.

We Can't All Be Happy, We Can't All Be Rich, We Can't All Be Lucky - And It Would Be So Much Less Fun If We Were... There Must Be The Dark Background To Show Up The Bright Colours.

As It Was In The Beginning, ... Is Now, And Ever Shall Be, World Without End.

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.

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