When It Snows In Your Nose, You

Things Are Symbols Of Themselves.

Last Exit To Brooklyn Should Explode Like A Rusty Hellish Bombshell Over America And Still Be Eagerly Read In A Hundred Years.

A Poem Is Like A Radio That Can Broadcast Continuously For Thousands Of Years.

I Know I'm Not God, Are You? Don't Be Silly. God? God? Everybody's God? Don't Be Silly.

None Of Us Understand What We're Doing, But We Do Beautiful Things Anyway.