I've Told You, Nobody Becomes An Artist

We Don't Have A Unitary Society Anymore, You Know; It's Very Fragmented. I Look Up And Down My Block In Silverlake And There Is A Different Universe In Every House.

Writing Mirrors The Interior Self. You Know, Any Book Is Like The Perfect Blueprint Of The Psyche Of The Author.

This Was The Wonderful Thing About Strangers. They Were Big Blank Pieces Of Paper, You Could Draw Watever You Like On Their Impresionable Surfaces

How Easy I Was. Like A Limpet I Attached Myself To Anything, Anyone Who Showed Me The Least Attention.

My Loneliness Tasted Like Pennies.