"I spent the day in bed
You can please yourself
But, I spent the day in bed
Pillows like pillars
Life ends in death
So, there's nothing wrong with
Being good to yourself
Be good to yourself for once!
And no bus, no boss, no rain, no train..."
“Oh God, midnight’s not bad, you wake and go back to sleep, one or two’s not bad, you toss but sleep again. Five or six in the morning, there’s hope, for dawn’s just under the horizon. But three, now, Christ, three A.M.!
Doctors say the body’s at low tide then. The soul is out. The blood moves slow. You’re the nearest to dead you’ll ever be save dying.
Sleep is a patch of death, but three in the morn, full wide-eyed staring, is living death! You dream with your eyes open. God, if you had strength to rouse up, you’d slaughter your half-dreams with buckshot! But no, you lie pinned to a deep well-bottom that’s burned dry.
The moon rolls by to look at you down there, with its idiot face.
It’s a long way back to sunset, a far way on to dawn, so you summon all the fool things of your life,
the stupid lovely things done with people known so very well who are now so very dead –
And wasn’t it true, had he read somewhere, more people in hospitals die at 3 A.M. than at any other time...”
― Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes
love is more thicker than forget
more thinner than recall
more seldom than a wave is wet
more frequent than to fail
it is most mad and moonly
and less it shall unbe
than all the sea which only
is deeper than the sea
love is less always than to win
less never than alive
less bigger than the least begin
less littler than forgive
it is most sane and sunly
and more it cannot die
than all the sky which only
is higher than the sky