No, I regret nothing, all I regret is having been born, dying is such a long tiresome business I always found.

We are all born mad. Some remain so.

If you do not love me I shall not be loved If I do not love you I shall not love.

Birth was the death of him.

It is right that he too should have his little chronicle, his memories, his reason, and be able to recognize the good in the bad, the bad in the worst, and so grow gently old down all the unchanging days, and die one day like any other day, only shorter.

Habit is a great deadener.

I can't go on. I'll go on.

Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.

Words are all we have.

Words are all we have.