Work On One Thing At A Time

The Poet Speaks Adequately Only When He Speaks Somewhat Wildly... Not With Intellect Alone, But With Intellect Inebriated By Nectar.

It Is Now The Fall Of My Second Year In Paris. I Was Sent Here For A Reason I Have Not Yet Been Able To Fathom. I Have No Money, No Resources, No Hopes. I Am The Happiest Man Alive. A Year Ago, Six Months Ago, I Thought I Was An Artist. I No Longer Think About It. I Am. There Are No More Books To Be Written, Thank God.

When Spring Comes To Paris The Humblest Mortal Alive Must Feel That He Dwells In Paradise.

No Man Would Set A Word Down On Paper If He Had The Courage To Live Out What He Believed In.

Prayers Are Offered Up Daily - Without Charge... Refreshments Are Served When Demanded.