I Am Writing These Poems From Inside

If You Want To Find Out What A Writer Or A Cartoonist Really Feels, Look At His Work. That's Enough.

He Wasted His Wishes On Wishing.

I Was So Lucky That I Didn't Have Anyone To Copy, Be Impressed By. I Had Developed My Own Style, I Was Creating Before I Knew There Was A Thurber, A Benchley, A Price And A Steinberg. I Never Saw Their Work Until I Was Around Thirty.

She Had Blue Skin, And So Did He. He Kept It Hid And So Did She. They Searched For Blue Their Whole Life Through, Then Passed Right By- And Never Knew.

Never Explain What You Do. It Speaks For Itself. You Only Muddle It By Talking About It.