So All A Man Could Win In

I Grew Up With The Sea, And Poverty For Me Was Sumptuous; Then I Lost The Sea And Found All Luxuries Gray And Poverty Unbearable.

We Turn Our Backs On Nature; We Are Ashamed Of Beauty. Our Wretched Tragedies Have A Smell Of The Office Clinging To Them, And The Blood That Trickles From Them Is The Color Of Printer's Ink.

Once One's Up Against It, The Precise Manner Of One's Death Has Obviously Small Importance.

The Real Passion Of The Twentieth Century Is Servitude.

An Intellectual Is Someone Whose Mind Watches Itself.