I Like Reality. It Tastes Like Bread.

Life Is A Child Playing Round Your Feet, A Tool You Hold Firmly In Your Grip, A Bench You Sit Down Upon In The Evening, In Your Garden.

Rien N'est Vrai Que Ce Qu'on Ne Dit Pas. Nothing Is True Except That Which Is Unsaid.

Life Isn't What You Think It Is. It's Like Water, And The Young Let It Trickle Away Between Their Fingers Without Even Noticing. Cup Your Hands, Keep It Safe. Life Eventually Becomes Something Else, Something Hard, Something Simple, Something You Can Hold In Your Hand And Nibble On Contentedly As You Sit In The Sun.

Inspiration Is A Farce That Poets Have Invented To Give Themselves Importance.

Life Is Very Nice, But It Has No Shape. The Object Of Art Is Actually To Give It Some And To Do It By Every Artifice Possible-truer Than The Truth.