In The World There Exists No Aesthetic

I Want The Following Word: Splendor, Splendor Is Fruit In All Its Succulence, Fruit Without Sadness. I Want Vast Distances. My Savage Intuition Of Myself.

The World's Continual Breathing Is What We Hear And Call Silence.

And Now -- Now It Only Remains For Me To Light A Cigarette And Go Home. Dear God, Only Now Am I Remembering That People Die. Does That Include Me? Don't Forget, In The Meantime, That This Is The Season For Strawberries. Yes.

Things Were Somehow So Good That They Were In Danger Of Becoming Very Bad Because What Is Fully Mature Is Very Close To Rotting

A Horse Is Freedom So Indominable That It Becomes Useless To Imprison It To Serve Man: It Lets Itself Be Domesticated, But With A Simple, Rebellious Toss Of The Head-shaking Its Mane Like An Abundance Of Free-flowing Hair-it Shows That Its Inner Nature Is Always Wild, Translucent And Free.