nothing is so much to be regretted as the universe. - Stephen Crane

ONCE, I KNEW A FINE SONG, — IT IS TRUE, BELIEVE ME, — IT WAS ALL OF BIRDS,
AND I HELD THEM IN A BASKET;
WHEN I OPENED THE WICKET,
HEAVENS! THEY ALL FLEW AWAY.
I CRIED, ’COME BACK, LITTLE THOUGHTS!’
BUT THEY ONLY LAUGHED.
THEY FLEW ON
UNTIL THEY WERE AS SAND
THROWN BETWEEN ME AND THE SKY.

The open mouth of a saloon called seductively to passengers to enter and annihilate sorrow or create rage.

He vaguely desired to walk around and around the body and stare; the impulse of the living to try to read in dead eyes the answer to the Question.