Be A Constant Outrage To Modesty There

Everything One Does In Life, Even Love, Occurs In An Express Train Racing Toward Death. To Smoke Opium Is To Get Out Of The Train While It Is Still Moving. It Is To Concern Oneself With Something Other Than Life Or Death.

I Am Burning Myself Up And Will Always Do So.

The Skin Of All Of Us Is Responsive To Gypsy Songs And Military Marches.

In Exiling Myself I Am Not Exiling A Monster, But A Man Whom Society Will Not Allow To Live, Since It Considers One Of The Mysterious Cogs In God's Masterpiece To Be A Mistake.

Take A Commonplace, Clean It And Polish It, Light It So That It Produces The Same Effect Of Youth And Freshness And Originality And Spontaneity As It Did Originally, And You Have Done A Poet's Job. The Rest Is Literature.