Pleasure Is Continually Disappointed, Reduced, Deflated, In

A Picture Is Never Anything But Its Own Plural Description.

Who Speaks Is Not Who Writes, And Who Writes Is Not Who Is.

I Think That Cars Today Are Almost The Exact Equivalent Of The Great Gothic Cathedrals: I Mean The Supreme Creation Of An Era, Conceived With Passion By Unknown Artists, And Consumed In Image If Not In Usage By A Whole Population Which Appropriates Them As A Purely Magical Object.

Am I In Love? --yes, Since I Am Waiting. The Other One Never Waits. Sometimes I Want To Play The Part Of The One Who Doesn't Wait; I Try To Busy Myself Elsewhere, To Arrive Late; But I Always Lose At This Game. Whatever I Do, I Find Myself There, With Nothing To Do, Punctual, Even Ahead Of Time. The Lover's Fatal Identity Is Precisely This: I Am The One Who Waits.

The Lover's Fatal Identity Is Precisely This: I Am The One Who Waits.