That's how it is on this bitch of an earth

You're on earth. There's no cure for that.

Just under the surface I shall be, all together at first, then separate and drift, through all the earth and perhaps in the end through a cliff into the sea, something of me. A ton of worms in an acre, that is a wonderful thought, a ton of worms, I believe it.

We are all born mad. Some remain so.

There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the fault of his feet.

The old endless chain of love, tolerance, indifference, aversion and disgust