Il Y Aura Toujours Un Chien Perdu

It Is Restful, Tragedy, Because One Knows That There Is No More Lousy Hope Left. You Know You're Caught, Caught At Last Like A Rat With All The World On Its Back. And The Only Thing Left To Do Is Shout - Not Moan, Or Complain, But Yell Out At The Top Of Your Voice Whatever It Was You Had To Say. What You've Never Said Before. What Perhaps You Don't Even Know Till Now.

Life Is Very Nice, But It Lacks Form. It's The Aim Of Art To Give It Some.

A Genius Knows How To Make Himself Easily Understood Without Being Obvious About It.

Propaganda Is A Soft Weapon; Hold It In Your Hands Too Long, And It Will Move About Like A Snake, And Strike The Other Way.

There Will Always Be A Lost Dog Somewhere That Will Keep Me From Being Happy.