You Don’t Make Art Out Of Good

Women Want You To Deceive Them: They Force You To, And If You Resist, They Blame You.

May I Die Like A Dog Rather Than Hasten The Ripening Of A Sentence By A Single Second!

Whatever The Thing You Wish To Say, There Is But One Word To Express It, But One Verb To Give It Movement, But One Adjective To Qualify It; You Must Seek Until You Find This Noun, This Verb, This Adjective.

He Loved A Book Because It Was A Book; He Loved Its Odor, Its Form, Its Title. What He Loved In A Manuscript Was Its Old Illegible Date, The Bizarre And Strange Gothic Characters, The Heavy Gilding Which Loaded Its Drawings. It Was Its Pages Covered With Dust — Dust Of Which He Breathed The Sweet And Tender Perfume With Delight.

Poetry Is A Subject As Precise As Geometry.