Perhaps I Know To What Extent I

It Is Not I Who Become Addicted, It Is My Body.

History Is A Combination Of Reality And Lies. The Reality Of History Becomes A Lie. The Unreality Of The Fable Becomes The Truth.

The World Owes Its Enchantment To These Curious Creatures And Their Fancies; But Its Multiple Complicity Rejects Them. Thistledown Spirits, Tragic, Heartrending In Their Evanescence, They Must Go Blowing Headlong To Perdition.

There Are Poets And There Are Grownups.

Be A Mere Assistant To Your Unconscious. Do Only Half The Work. The Rest Will Do Itself.