Of All The Idiots I Have Met

All Sorrows Can Be Borne If You Can Put Them Into A Story.

Through All The World There Goes One Long Cry From The Heart Of The Artist: Give Me A Chance To Do My Best.

A Poet's Mission Is To Make Others Confound Fiction And Reality In Order To Render Them, For An Hour, Mysteriously Happy.

One Does Not Travel By Plane. One Is Merely Sent, Like A Parcel.

As We Grow Old We Slowly Come To Believe That Everything Will Turn Out Badly For Us, And That Failure Is In The Nature Of Things; But Then We Do Not Much Mind What Happens To Us One Way Or The Other.