One Illusion Is As Good As Another.

Oh, The Secret Life Of Man And Woman--dreaming How Much Better We Would Be Than We Are If We Were Somebody Else Or Even Ourselves, And Feeling That Our Estate Has Been Unexploited To Its Fullest.

A Southern Moon Is A Sodden Moon, And Sultry. When It Swamps The Fields And The Rustling Sandy Roads And The Sticky Honeysuckle Hedges In Its Sweet Stagnation, Your Fight To Hold On To Reality Is Like A Protestation Against A First Waft Of Ether.

It Is The Loose Ends With Which Men Hang Themselves.

Death Is The Only Real Elegance.

I Remember Every Single Spot Of Light That Ever Gouged A Shadow Beside Your Bones.