Colour Is The Touch Of The Eye,

Painting Is The Silence Of Thought And The Music Of Sight.

I Work Seven Days A Week, From 9 In The Morning Till 8 At Night. I Have The Titles Of The Next Eight Novels I Want To Write. I Feel Myself Pitiable, Degraded On A Day That I Don't Write.

I Do Not Believe In A Personal Connection To God; That's Where It Gets Transcendental.

I Think A Lot About The Poems I Wasn't Able To Write...i Masturbrated...solitude Is Essentially A Matter Of Pride; You Bury Yourself In Your Own Scent. The Issue Is The Same For All Real Poets. If You've Been Happy For Too Long, You Become Banal. By The Same Token, If You've Been Unhappy For A Long Time, You Lose Your Poetic Power...happiness And Poverty Can Only Coexist For The Briefest Time. Afterword Either Happiness Coarsens The Poet Or The Poem Is So True It Destroys His Happiness.

...a Nation Could Change Its Way Of Life, Its History, Its Technology, Its Art, Literature, And Culture, But It Would Never Have A Real Chance To Change Its Gestures.