It's Raining My Soul, It's Raining, But

Without Poets, Without Artists, Men Would Soon Weary Of Nature's Monotony. The Sublime Idea Men Have Of The Universe Would Collapse With Dizzying Speed. The Order Which We Find In Nature, And Which Is Only An Effect Of Art, Would At Once Vanish. Everything Would Break Up In Chaos. There Would Be No Seasons, No Civilization, No Thought, No Humanity; Even Life Would Give Way, And The Impotent Void Would Reign Everywhere.

I Don't Want To Work. I Want To Smoke.

Matisse Renovates Rather Than Innovates.

One Can't Carry One's Father's Corpse About Everywhere.

Twentieth Pupil Of The Centuries Knows Its Stuff And Bird-changed This Century Like Jesus Climbs The Sky.