Every Artist Is An Unhappy Lover.

Yes, Of Course, There's Something Fishy About Describing People's Feelings. You Try Hard To Be Accurate, But As Soon As You Start To Define Such And Such A Feeling, Language Lets You Down. It's Really A Machine For Making Falsehoods. When We Really Speak The Truth, Words Are Insufficient. Almost Everything Except Things Like "pass The Gravy" Is A Lie Of A Sort. And That Being The Case, I Shall Shut Up. Oh, And... Pass The Gravy.

You Cannot Have Both Truth And What You Call Civilisation.

There Is Nothing Like The Bootless Solitude Of Those Who Are Caged Together.

Art And Psychoanalysis Give Shape And Meaning To Life And That Is Why We Adore Them, But Life As It Is Lived Has No Shape And Meaning.

Happiness Is A Matter Of One's Most Ordinary Everyday Mode Of Consciousness Being Busy And Lively And Unconcerned With Self.