Thoughts of suicide had never entered my head.

And now that they entered, I thought it fine, a splendid culminating, a perfect rounding off of my short but exciting career.

I, who had never known girl's love, nor woman's love, nor the love of children; who had never played in the wide joy-fields of art, nor climbed the star-cool heights of philosophy, nor seen with my eyes more than a pin-point's surface of the gorgeous world; I decided that this was all, that I had seen all, lived all, been all, that was worth while, and that now was the time to cease.

This was the trick of John Barleycorn, laying me by the heels of my imagination and in a drug-dream dragging me to death.
Oh, he was convincing.

I had really experienced all of life, and it didn't amount to much.