I Think It Is All A Matter

I Don't Think In Any Language. I Think In Images.

All At Once We Were Madly, Clumsily, Shamelessly, Agonizingly In Love With Each Other; Hopelessly, I Should Add, Because That Frenzy Of Mutual Possession Might Have Been Assuaged Only By Our Actually Imbibing And Assimilating Every Particle Of Each Other's Soul And Flesh; But There We Were, Unable Even To Mate As Slum Children Would Have So Easily Found An Opportunity To Do So.

Do What Only A True Artist Can Do ... Pounce Upon The Forgotten Butterfly Of Revelation

My Loathings Are Simple: Stupidity, Oppression, Crime, Cruelty, Soft Music.

Occasionally, In The Middle Of A Conversation Her Name Would Be Mentioned, And She Would Run Down The Steps Of A Chance Sentence, Without Turning Her Head.