The Saints Come, As Human As A

Women Are Born Twice.

Dead Drunk Is The Term I Think Of, Insensible, Neither Cool Nor Warm, Without A Head Or A Foot. To Be Drunk Is To Be Intimate With A Fool.

I Love You. You Are Closest To My Heart, Closer Than Any Other Human Being. You Are My Extension. You Are My Prayer. You Are My Belief In God. For Better Or Worse You Inherit Me.

Someone Is Dead. Even The Trees Know It, Those Poor Old Dancers Who Come On Lewdly, All Pea-green Scarfs And Spine Pole.

Maybe, Although My Heart Is A Kitten Of Butter, I Am Blowing It Up Like A Zeppelin.