“There's little in taking or givingThere's little in water or wineThis living, this living , this livingwas never a project of mine.Oh, hard is the struggle, and sparse isthe gain of the one at the topfor art is a form of catharsisand love is a permanent flopand work is the province of cattleand rest's for a clam in a shellso I'm thinking of throwing the battlewould you kindly direct me to hell?”

“Coda"There's little in taking or giving,There's little in water or wine;This living, this living, this livingWas never a project of mine.Oh, hard is the struggle, and sparse isThe gain of the one at the top,For art is a form of catharsis,And love is a permanent flop,And work is the province of cattle,And rest's for a clam in a shell,So I'm thinking of throwing the battle-Would you kindly direct me to hell?”

“You think You're frightening me with Your hell, don't You? You think Your hell is worse than mine.”

“I won't telephone him. I'll never telephone him again as long as I live. He'll rot in hell, before I'll call him up. You don't have to give me strength, God; I have it myself. If he wanted me, he could get me. He knows where I am. He knows I'm waiting here. He's so sure of me, so sure. I wonder why they hate you, as soon as they are sure of you.”

“It costs me never a stab nor squirm / To tread by chance upon a worm. / Aha, my little dear, / I say, Your clan will pay me back one day.”

“Now I know the things I know, and I do the things I do; and if you do not like me so, to hell, my love, with you!”

“I'm never going to accomplish anything; that's perfectly clear to me. I'm never going to be famous. My name will never be writ large on the roster of Those Who Do Things. I don't do anything. Not one single thing. I used to bite my nails, but I don't even do that any more.”