It Seems An Insult To The Night

It Seems An Insult To The Night To Speak Of Purpose And Intent, When This Common Moment Is So Brimming Full Of Blessed Design Tranquility. All Things Follow Their Course.

But During All These Years I Had A Vague But Persistent Desire To Return To New Orleans. I Never Forgot New Orleans. And When We Were In Tropical Places And Places Of Those Flowers And Trees That Grow In Louisiana, I Would Think Of It Acutely And I Would Feel For My Home The Only Glimmer Of Desire I Felt For Anything Outside My Endless Pursuit Of Art.

Yes, I Know," "and I Love To Hear You Say It, Louis. I Need To Hear You Say It. I Don't Think Anyone Will Ever Say It Quite Like You Do. Come On, Say It Again. I'm A Perfect Devil. Tell Me How Bad I Am. It Makes Me Feel So Good!

I Assume I Don't Need An Introduction.

Writers, As They Gain Success, Feel Like Outsiders Because Writers Don't Come Together In Real Groups.