If One Believes, Then Miracles Occur.

Writing, Like Life Itself, Is A Voyage Of Discovery.

We Are Swimming On The Face Of Time And All Else Has Drowned, Is Drowning, Or Will Drown.

I See America Spreading Disaster. I See America As A Black Curse Upon The World. I See A Long Night Settling In And That Mushroom Which Has Poisoned The World Withering At The Roots.

What Are Our Conductors Giving Us Year After Year? Only Fresh Corpses. Over These Beautifully Embalmed Sonatas, Toccatas, Symphonies And Operas The Public Dance The Jitterbug. Night And Day Without Let The Radio Drowns Us In A Hog-wash Of The Most Nauseating, Sentimental Ditties. From The Churches Comes The Melancholy Dirge Of The Dead Christ, A Music Which Is No More Sacred Than A Rotten Turnip.

History Is The Myth, The True Myth, Of Man's Fall Made Manifest In Time.