No One Masters The Heart.

I Didn't Want To Write For Pay. I Wanted To Be Paid For What I Write.

The Psychologists Are Valiantly Trying To Provide Us With Answers, The Religious People Are Trying To Provide Us With Answers. I Think It Properly Falls On The Cultural Workers To Investigate This Predicament With A Little Less Concern For The Marketplace And A Little More Concern For Their Higher Calling.

All The Lousy Little Poets Coming Around Trying To Sound Like Charles Manson.

Who Could Have Foretold The Heart Grows Old From Touching Others

If You're Squeezed For Information, / That's When You've Got To Play It Dumb: / You Just Say You're Out There Waiting / For The Miracle, For The Miracle To Come.