To Have Been Always What I Am

What A Joy To Know Where One Is, And Where One Will Stay, Without Being There. Nothing To Do But Stretch Out Comfortably On The Rack, In The Blissful Knowledge You Are Nobody For All Eternity. A Pity I Should Have To Give Tongue At The Same Time, It Prevents It From Bleeding In Peace, Licking The Lips.

To Think, When One Is No Longer Young, When One Is Not Yet Old, That One Is No Longer Young, That One Is Not Yet Old, That Is Perhaps Something.

Personally I Have No Bone To Pick With Graveyards.

Suffering Is The Main Condition Of The Artistic Experience.

The Bicycle Is A Great Good. But It Can Turn Nasty, If Ill Employed.