There Can Be No Good Art That

I Love Death Because He Breaks The Human Pattern And Frees Us From Pleasures Too Prolonged As Well As From The Pains Of This World. It Is Pleasant, Too, To Remember That Death Lies In Our Hands; He Must Come If We Call Him. ... I Think If There Were No Death, Life Would Be More Than Flesh And Blood Could Bear.

Love Is Not Love That Wounded Bleeds And Bleeding Sullies Slow. Come Death Within My Hands And I Unto My Love Will Go.

If There Wasn't Death, I Think You Couldn't Go On.

Oh, No No No, It Was Too Cold Always (still The Dead One Lay Moaning) I Was Much Too Far Out All My Life And Not Waving But Drowning.

Youth Is An Arithmetical Statement Of Passing Interest, Each Hour Eats It Up.