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Mon Dieu, la vie est par trop moche.

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Only times and places, only names and ghosts.

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My soul is a pale, tenuous membrane..."That was pleasing: a thin, tenuous membrane. It had the right anatomical quality. Tight blown, quivering in the...more

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Actual happiness always looks pretty squalid in comparison with the over-compensations of misery.

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The world and the friends that lived in it are shadows: you alone remain real in this drowsing room.

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Shut lips, sleeping faces,Every stopped machine,The dumb and littered placesWhere crowds have been:.All silences rejoice,Weep (loudly or low),Speak-bu...more