—Mark this, oh you world that I can not make hear me! Some desperate thing I shall do—I will not sit here and be respectable always!
—I wonder what locusts taste like, and just where one could find wild honey.
October 29th.
I sang a song to-day—a mad, mad song! I wish I could bring it back. It came to me unexpectedly, while I was kneeling by the bed, thinking.
I have forgotten it all now—one always forgets his best songs. I have not a line of this one, except the chorus:
For I am lord of a thousand dollars!
So it is that my best songs go. I can count them on my fingers. But I have not yet learned how precious they are—that is why I lose them.
—Do you remember that time on the great cliffs by the ocean? There was nothing left but the ending again—