Be again, be again. (Pause.) All that old misery. (Pause.) Once wasn't enough for you.
You're on Earth. There's no cure for that.
But is it true love, in the rectum? That's what bothers me sometimes.
Do we mean love, when we say love?
I happened to look up and there it was. All over and done with, at last. I sat on for a few moments with the ball in my hand and the dog yelping and pawing at me. (Pause.) Moments. Her moments, my moments (Pause.) The dog's moments.
Try again. Fail again. Fail better.
Was I asleep? Had I slept?
No, I regret nothing, all I regret is having been born, dying is such a long tiresome business I always found.
There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the fault of his feet.
Birth was the death of him.
I shall state silences more competently than ever a better man spangled the butterflies of vertigo.
Make sense who may. I switch off.
We are not saints, but we have kept our appointment. How many people can boast as much?
Let me go to hell, that's all I ask, and go on cursing them there, and them look down and hear me, that might take some of the shine off their bliss.
We are all born mad. Some remain so.
Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes, it's awful.
Habit is a great deadener.
The bastard! He doesn't exist!
How can one better magnify the Almighty than by sniggering with him at his little jokes, particularly the poorer ones.
Probably nothing in the world arouses more false hopes Than the first four hours of a diet.
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