I Tried To Discover, In The Rumor

Human Speech Is Like A Cracked Kettle On Which We Tap Crude Rhythms For Bears To Dance To, While We Long To Make Music That Will Melt The Stars.

One Day, I Shall Explode Like An Artillery Shell And All My Bits Will Be Found On The Writing Table.

That Man Has Missed Something Who Has Never Left A Brothel At Sunrise Feeling Like Throwing Himself Into The River Out Of Pure Disgust.

It Is Always Sad To Leave A Place To Which One Knows One Will Never Return. Such Are The Melancolies Du Voyage: Perhaps They Are One Of The Most Rewarding Things About Traveling.

How We Keep These Dead Souls In Our Hearts. Each One Of Us Carries Within Himself His Necropolis.