The Beauty Of Things Must Be That

The One Thing That We Yearn For In Our Living Days, That Makes Us Sigh And Groan And Undergo Sweet Nauseas Of All Kinds, Is The Remembrance Of Some Lost Bliss That Was Probably Experienced In The Womb And Can Only Be Reproduced (though We Hate To Admit It) In Death. But Who Wants To Die?

It Was The Work Of The Quiet Mountains, This Torrent Of Purity At My Feet.

The Cause Of The World's Woe Is Birth, The Cure Of The World's Woe Is A Bent Stick.

Besides, All My New York Friends Were In The Negative, Nightmare Position Of Putting Down Society And Giving Their Tired Bookish Or Political Or Psychoanalytical Reasons, But Dean Just Raced In Society, Eager For Bread And Love.

Don't Drink To Get Drunk. Drink To Enjoy Life.