None Of The Rest Of My Life

The Greatest Works Of Literature Seem To Embody Both "art" And "morality".

How Does The Poet Transform His Banal Thoughts (are Not Most Thoughts Banal?) Into Such Stunning Forms, Into Beauty?

Boxing Is Rough. Even If You Win, You Get Hurt.

The Denial Of Language Is A Suicidal One And We Pay For It With Our Own Lives.

To The West, The Pacific Ocean, Which Revulses Me, For Its Vastness Cannot Be Fitted Into Any Box.