Memories Are Hunting Horns Whose Sound Dies

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

Paint With Whatever Material You Please - With Pipes, Postage Stamps, Postcards Or Playing Cards, Painted Paper, Or Newspapers.

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

People Quickly Grow Accustomed To Being The Slaves Of Mystery.

It's Raining My Soul, It's Raining, But It's Raining Dead Eyes.