I Had Little Talent For Happiness.

The Memory Came Faint And Cold Of The Story I Might Have Told, A Story In The Likeness Of My Life, I Mean Without The Courage To End Or The Strength To Go On.

The Only Sin Is The Sin Of Being Born.

Don't Look For Meaning In The Words. Listen To The Silences.

To Be An Artist Is To Fail, As No Other Dare Fail, That Failure Is His World And The Shrink From Desertion, Art And Craft, Good Housekeeping, Living.

Deplorable Mania, When Something Happens, To Inquire What.