My Mistakes Are My Life.

Tears And Laughter, They Are So Much Gaelic To Me.

To Find A Form That Accommodates The Mess, That Is The Task Of The Artist Now.

For The Only Way One Can Speak Of Nothing Is To Speak Of It As Though It Were Something, Just As The Only Way One Can Speak Of God Is To Speak Of Him As Though He Were A Man, Which To Be Sure He Was, In A Sense, For A Time, And As The Only Way One Can Speak Of Man, Even Our Anthropologists Have Realized That, Is To Speak Of Him As Though He Were A Termite.

If I Had The Use Of My Body, I Would Throw It Out The Window.

I Shall State Silences More Competently Than Ever A Better Man Spangled The Butterflies Of Vertigo.