As early pioneers in the knowing, that when you lose your reason, you attain highest perfect knowing.
And this is the way a novel gets written, in ignorance, fear, sorrow, madness, and a kind of psychotic happiness that serves as an incubator for the wonders being born.
All you do is head straight for the grave, a face just covers a skull awhile. Stretch that skull-cover and smile.
All our best men are laughed at in this nightmare land.
All of life is a foreign country.
Accept loss forever.
