Was I Asleep? Had I Slept?

Let's Go." "we Can't." "why Not?" "we're Waiting For Godot.

The Tears Of The World Are A Constant Quantity. For Each One Who Begins To Weep, Somewhere Else Another Stops. The Same Is True Of The Laugh.

Absolute Virtue Is As Sure To Kill A Man As Absolute Vice Is, Let Alone The Dullness Of It And The Pomposities Of It.

I Could Not Have Gone Through The Awful Wretched Mess Of Life Without Having Left A Stain Upon The Silence.

All Poetry, As Discriminated From The Various Paradigms Of Prosody, Is Prayer.