Myself when young did eagerly frequent<br/>Doctor and Saint$$$ and heard great Argumen<br/>About it and about; but evermore<br/>Came out by the same Door as in I went.

And if the Wine you drink$$$ the Lip you press$$$<br/>End in the Nothing all Things end in - Yes -Then fancy while Thou art$$$ Thou art but what<br/>Thou shalt be - Nothing - though shalt not be less.

I think it's much more interesting to live not knowing than to have answers which might be wrong.

If you could just ravel out into time. That would be nice. It would be nice if you could just ravel out into time.

She loved him not only in spite of but because he himself was incapable of love.

You can't beat women anyhow and that if you are wise or dislike trouble and uproar you don't even try to.

The American really loves nothing but his automobile: not his wife his child nor his country nor even his bank-account first (in fact he doesn't really love that bank-account nearly as much as foreigners like to think because he will spend almost any or all of it for almost anything provided it is valueless enough) but his motor-car. Because the automobile has become our national sex symbol. We cannot really enjoy anything unless we can go up an alley for it. Yet our whole background and raising and training forbids the sub rosa and surreptitious.

This does not matter. This is not anything yet. It all depends on what you do with it$$$ afterward.

As regards any specific book$$$ I'm trying primarily to tell a story$$$ in the most effective way I can think of$$$ the most moving$$$ the most exhaustive. But I think even that is incidental to what I am trying to do$$$ taking my output (the course of it) as a whole. I am telling the same story over and over$$$ which is myself and the world. . . I'm trying to say it all in one sentence$$$ between one Cap and one period. I'm still trying to put it all$$$ if possible on one pinhead. I don't know how to do it. All I know to do is to keep on trying in a new way. . .

Then Ben wailed again$$$ hopeless and prolonged. It was nothing. Just sound. It might have been all time and injustice and sorrow become vocal for an instant by a conjunction of planets.