Art Like Life Is An Open Secret.

Does Not Everything Depend On Our Interpretation Of The Silence Around Us?

But I Love To Feel Events Overlapping Each Other, Crawling Over One Another Like Wet Crabs In A Basket

There Is No Pain Compared To That Of Loving A Woman Who Makes Her Body Accessible To One And Yet Who Is Incapable Of Delivering Her True Self -- Because She Does Not Know Where To Find It.

The Memory Of Man Is As Old As Misfortune

She Took Kisses Like So Many Coats Of Paint […] How Long And How Vainly I Searched For Excuses Which Might Make Her Amorality If Not Palatable At Lest Understandable. I Realize Now The Time I Wasted In This Way; Instead Of Enjoying Her And Turning Aside From These Preoccupations With The Thought, ‘she Is Untrustworthy As She Is Beautiful. She Takes Love As Plants Do Water, Lightly, Thoughtlessly.