To decompose is to live too, I know, I know, don't torment me, but one sometimes forgets. And of that life too I shall tell you perhaps one day, the day I know that when I thought I knew I was merely existing and that passion without form or stations will have devoured me down to the rotting flesh itself and that when I know that I know nothing, am only crying out as I have always cried out, more or less piercingly, more or less openly. Let me cry out then, it's said to be good for you. yes let me cry out, this time, then another time perhaps, then perhaps a last time.

I get up, go out, and everything is changed. The blood drains from my head, the noise of things bursting, merging, avoiding one another, assails me on all side…

There is a little of everything, apparently, in nature, and freaks are common.

I was not made for the great light that devours, a dim lamp was all I had been given, and patience without end, to shine it on the empty shadows. I was a solid…

I am glad to be a maggot in the corpse which is the world.

Half-buried to her flaming breast In this bright tree, she makes her nest, Hundred-sunned Phoenix! when she must Crumble at length to hoary dust!

He is dead already who doth not feel Life is worth living still.