If A Poet Has A Dream, It

Silence Moves Faster When It's Going Backward.

There's No Such Thing As Love; Only Proof Of Love.

In Two Weeks, Despite These Notes, I Shall No Longer Believe In What I Am Experiencing Now. One Must Leave Behind A Trace Of This Journey Which Memory Forgets. One Must, When This Is Impossible, Write Or Draw Without Responding To The Romantic Solicitations Of Pain, Without Enjoying Suffering Like Music, Tieing A Pen To One's Foot If Need Be, Helping The Doctors Who Can Learn Nothing From Laziness.

Artists Can No More Speak About Their Work, Than Plants Can Speak About Horticulture.

It Is Not Inspiration; It Is Expiration.