I Am The Wilderness Lost In Man.

We Are All Imprisoned By The Dictionary. We Choose Out Of That Vast, Paper-walled Prison Our Convicts, The Little Black Printed Words, When In Truth We Need Fresh Sounds To Utter, New Enfranchised Noises Which Would Produce A New Effect.

Lingering Is So Very Lonely When One Lingers All Alone.

Oh How I Hate People!

He Saw In Happiness The Seeds Of Independence, And In Independence The Seeds Of Revolt.

For Death Is Life. It Is Only Living That Is Lifeless.