No-one Was Ever Made Wretched In A

It Is After Creation, In The Elation Of Success, Or The Gloom Of Failure, That Love Becomes Essential.

Poets Arguing About Modern Poetry: Jackals Snarling Over A Dried-up Well.

No One Can Achieve Serenity Until The Glare Of Passion Is Past The Meridian.

Dining Out Is A Vice, A Dissipation Of Spirit Punished By Remorse. We Eat, Drink, And Talk A Little Too Much, Abuse All Our Friends, Belch Out Our Literary Preferences And Are Egged On By Accomplices In The Audience To Acts Of Mental Exhibitionism. Such Evenings Cannot Fail To Diminish Those Who Take Part In Them. They End On Monkey Hill.

The Artist Secretes Nostalgia Around Life.