The Writer's Job Is Not To Judge,

Because We Would Not Wear Any Clothes Because It Was So Hot And The Windows Open And The Swallows Flying Over The Roofs Of The Houses And When It Was Dark Afterward And You Went To The Window Very Small Bats Hunting Over The Houses And Close Down Over The Trees And We Would Drink Capri And The Door Locked And It Hot And Only A Sheet And The Whole Night And We Would Both Love Each Other All Night In The Hot Night In Milan. That Was How It Ought To Be.

The Better The Writers The Less They Will Speak About What They Have Written Themselves.

In A Power Hungry, Power Worshipping Society, Men Label Themselves Atheist.

My Life Used To Be Full Of Everything. Now If You Aren't With Me I Haven't A Thing In The World.

He Liked The Works Of His Friends, Which Is Beautiful As Loyalty But Can Be Disastrous As Judgement.