The Past Is Strapped To Our Backs.

An Artist Usually Has No Friends Except Other Artists, And Usually They Do Not Like His Work.

The Fault We Admit To Is Seldom The Fault We Have, But It Has A Certain Relationship To It, A Somewhat Similar Shape, Like That Of A Sleeve To An Arm.

Society Honors Its Living Conformists And Its Dead Troublemakers.

Tough And Funny And A Little Bit Kind: That Is As Near To Perfection As A Human Being Can Be.

If You Can Tell Anyone About It, It's Not The Worst Thing You Ever Did.