What Is Our Innocence, What Is Our

When One Is Frank, One's Very Presence Is A Compliment.

Below The Incandescent Stars / Below The Incandescent Fruit, / The Strange Experience Of Beauty; / Its Existence Is Too Much; / It Tears One To Pieces / And Each Fresh Wave Of Consciousness / Is Poison.

Excess Is The Common Substitute For Energy.

It Is Human Nature To Stand In The Middle Of A Thing.

Any Writer Overwhelmingly Honest About Pleasing Himself Is Almost Sure To Please Others.