The Skin Of All Of Us Is

I Only Fear The Death Of Others. For Me, True Death Is That Of The People I Love

The Joy Of The Young Is To Disobey

Mystery Has Its Own Mysteries, And There Are Gods Above Gods. We Have Ours, They Have Theirs. That Is What's Known As Infinity.

The Poet Is At The Disposal Of The Night. His Role Is Humble, He Must Clean House And Await Its Due Visitation.

Enough Of Clouds, Waves, Aquariums, Water-sprites And Nocturnal Scents; What We Need Is Music Of The Earth, Everyday Music..music One Can Live In Like A House.