Life, Friends, Is Boring. We Must Not

The Artist Is Extremely Lucky Who Is Presented With The Worst Possible Ordeal Which Will Not Actually Kill Him. At That Point, He's In Business.

Them Lady Poets Must Not Marry, Pal.

Offering Dragons Quarter Is No Good, They Regrow All Their Parts And Come On Again. They Have To Be Killed.

There Is No Such Thing As Freedom (though It Is The Most Important Condition Of Human Life, After Humility, -which Does Not Exist Either). There Is Only Slavery (walls Around One) And Absence-of-slavery (ability To Walk In Any Direction, Or To Remain Still).

I Think That What Happens In My Poetic Work In The Future Will Depend On My Being Knocked In The Face, And Thrown Flat, And Given Cancer, And All Kinds Of Other Things Short Of Senile Dementia.