Asking a working writer what he thinks about critics is like asking a lamp-post how it feels about dogs.
No statue has ever been put up to a critic.
Psychoanalysis is that mental illnes for which it regards itself a therapy.
Psychiatry is the care of the id by the odd.
Dying is easy. Comedy is difficult.
Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional.
My work is done, why wait?
If you are of the opinion that the contemplation of suicide is sufficient evidence of a poetic nature, do not forget that actions speak louder than words.