The Concert Is A Polite Form Of

My World Of Human Beings Had Perished. I Was Utterly Alone In The World And For Friends I Had The Streets, And The Streets Spoke To Me In That Sad, Bitter Language Compounded Of Human Misery, Yearning, Regret, Failure, Wasted Effort

We Kill Because We Are Afraid Of Our Own Shadow, Afraid That If We Used A Little Common Sense We'd Have To Admit That Our Glorious Principles Were Wrong.

We Are Dancing In The Hollow Of Nothingness. We Are One Flesh, But Separated Like Stars.

My One Thought Is To Get Out Of New York, To Experience Something Genuinely American.

You Have To Write A Million Words Before You Find Your Voice As A Writer.