Real Art Must Always Involve Some Witchcraft.

I Had Seen A Herd Of Buffalo, One Hundred And Twenty-nine Of Them, Come Out Of The Morning Mist Under A Copper Sky, One By One, As If The Dark And Massive, Iron-like Animals With The Mighty Horizontally Swung Horns Were Not Approaching, But Were Being Created Before My Eyes And Sent Out As They Were Finished.

The Cure For Anything Is Salt Water: Sweat, Tears Or The Sea.

The Lime Trees Were In Bloom. But In The Early Morning Only A Faint Fragrance Drifted Through The Garden, An Airy Message, An Aromatic Echo Of The Dreams During The Short Summer Night.

What Is Man, When You Come To Think Upon Him, But A Minutely Set, Ingenious Machine For Turning With Infinite Artfulness, The Red Wine Of Shiraz Into Urine?

It Is Little Silly To Be A Caricature Of Something Of Which You Know Very Little, And Which Means Very Little To You, But To Be Your Own Caricature — That Is The True Carnival!