The Public Only Takes Up Yesterday As

One Must Be A Living Man And A Posthumous Artist.

Poets Don't Draw. They Unravel Their Handwriting And Then Tie It Up Again, But Differently.

The Prettiest Dresses Are Worn To Be Taken Off.

A Man's Truest Self Realizations Might Require Him, Above All, To Learn To Close His Eyes: To Let Himself Be Taken Unawares, To Follow His Dark Angel, To Risk His Illegal Instincts.

One Sits Down First; One Thinks Afterwards.