“So he was deserted. The whole world was clamouring: Kill yourself, kill yourself, for our sakes. But why should he kill himself for their sakes? Food was pleasant; the sun hot; and this killing oneself, how does one set about it, with a table knife, uglily, with floods of blood, - by sucking a gaspipe? He was too weak; he could scarcely raise his hand. Besides, now that he was quite alone, condemned, deserted, as those who are about to die are alone, there was a luxury in it, an isolation full of sublimity; a freedom which the attached can never know.”

From Virginia Woolf's *Mrs. Dalloway*

And since today, January 8th, is Elvis Presley's birthday, here's something from Elvis Costello (born August 25, 1954):

And there's still life in your body
But most of it's leaving


Can't you give us all a break
Can't you stop breathing

Good afternoon from the Anonymous Sparrow.