A Critic Is A Lug-worm In The

I Had Become, With The Approach Of Night, Once More Aware Of Loneliness And Time - Those Two Companions Without Whom No Journey Can Yield Us Anything.

Gamblers And Lovers Really Play To Lose.

I Am Quite Alone. I Am Neither Happy Nor Unhappy; I Lie Suspended Like A Hair Or A Feather In The Cloudy Mixtures Of Memory.

Music Is Only Love Looking For Words.

Like All Young Men I Set Out To Be A Genius, But Mercifully Laughter Intervened.