Of Course I Think Of The Past

After All, It Is Not Where One Washes One's Neck That Counts But Where One Moistens One's Throat.

I Am Not A Critic; To Me Criticism Is So Often Nothing More Than The Eye Garrulously Denouncing The Shape Of The Peephole That Gives Access To Hidden Treasure.

Dreams Have Only The Pigmentation Of Fact.

We Are Adhering To Life Now With Our Last Muscle - The Heart.

You Beat The Liver Out Of A Goose To Get A Pâté; You Pound The Muscles Of A Man's Cardia To Get A Philosopher.