In The Street Of The Sky Night

A Man Who Had Fallen Among Thieves Lay By The Roadside On His Back Dressed In Fifteenthrate Ideas Wearing A Round Jeer For A Hat

When Skies Are Hanged And Oceans Drowned, The Single Secret Will Still Be Man

By The Way, A Gendarme Assured Me This Is Not A Prison.

Be Of Love A Little More Careful Than Of Anything.

I Am Someone Who Proudly And Humbly Affirms That Love Is The Mystery-of-mysteries, And That Nothing Measurable Matters 'a Very Good God Damn'; That 'an Artist, A Man, A Failure' Is No Mere Whenfully Accreting Mechanism, But A Givingly Eternal Complexity-neither Some Soulless And Heartless Ultrapredatory Infra-animal Nor Any Understandingly Knowing And Believing And Thinking Automaton, But A Naturally And Miraculously Whole Human Being-a Feelingly Illimitable Individual; Whose Only Happiness Is To Transcend Himself, Whose Every Agony Is To Grow.