Morality Is The Weakness Of The Mind.

I Wrote Silences; Nights; I Recorded The Unnameable.

For A Long Time I Found The Celebrities Of Modern Painting And Poetry Ridiculous. I Loved Absurd Pictures, Fanlights, Stage Scenery, Mountebanks Backcloths, Inn-signs, Cheap Colored Prints; Unfashionable Literature, Church Latin, Pornographic Books Badly Spelt, Grandmothers Novels, Fairy Stories, Little Books For Children, Old Operas, Empty Refrains, Simple Rhythms.

I Have Stretched Ropes From Steeple To Steeple; Garlands From Window To Window; Golden Chains From Star To Star, And I Dance.

The Sun, The Hearth Of Affection And Life, Pours Burning Love On The Delighted Earth.

You Will Always Be A Hyena.