The Heaventree Of Stars Hung With Humid

Our Souls, Shame-wounded By Our Sins, Cling To Us Yet More, A Woman To Her Lover Clinging, The More The More.

The Object Of The Artist Is The Creation Of The Beautiful. What The Beautiful Is Is Another Question.

...rapid Motion Through Space Elates One.

The Light Music Of Whiskey Falling Into Glasses Made An Agreeable Interlude.

I Am Damnably Sick Of Italy, Italian And Italians, Outrageously, Illogically Sick.... I Hate To Think That Italians Ever Did Anything In The Way Of Art.... What Did They Do But Illustrate A Page Or So Of The New Testament! They Themselves Think They Have A Monopoly In The Line. I Am Dead Tired Of Their Bello And Bellezza.