I Don't Wish Power, Only Art -art

Idealism Is The Death Of The Body And The Imagination. All But Freedom, Utter Freedom, Is Death

Three Or Four Threads May Be Agitated, Like Telegraph Wires, At The Same Time, And If I Were To Tap Them All I Would Reveal Such A Mixture Of Innocence And Duplicity, Generosity And Calculation, Fear And Courage, I Cannot Tell The Whole Truth Simply Because I Would Have To Write Four Journals At Once.

I Cheat Him, I Deceive Him, Yet The World Does Not Sink In Sulphur-colored Mists. Madness Conquers. I Can No Longer Put My Mosaics Together. I Just Cry And Laugh.

Nothing Endures Unless It Has First Been Transposed Into A Myth, And The Great Advantage Of Myths Is That They Are Ladies With Portable Roots.

I Miss The Animal Buoyancy Of New York, The Animal Vitality. I Did Not Mind That It Had No Meaning And No Depth.