Old Women Can See Through Walls.

The Artist, And Particularly The Poet, Is Always An Anarchist In The Best Sense Of The Word. He Must Heed Only The Call That Arises Within Him From Three Strong Voices: The Voice Of Death, With All Its Foreboding, The Voice Of Love And The Voice Of Art.

Fire Is Fed By Fire. The Same Small Flame Destroys Two Stalks Of Wheat At Once.

Only Mystery Allows Us To Live, Only Mystery.

Oh Honey, There's Nothing New On This Earth When It Comes To What Men And Women Do In The Dark. First Love Is When You Learn. So You've Learned That Love Can Open You Up Like Spring Sun On A Wee Primrose. Good. Remember That. You Know How To Love.

We're All Like The Little Sailor. From The Harbors We Hear The Strains Of Accordions And The Murky Soapy Noises Of The Docks, From The Mountains We Receive The Dish Of Silence That The Shepherds Eat, But We Don't Hear More Than Our Own Distances. And What Distances Without End And Without Doors And Without Mountains!