What We Need Is Hatred. From It

We Know That Their Adventures Are Childish. They Themselves Are Fools. They Are Ready To Kill Or Be Killed Over A Card-game In Which An Opponent - Or They Themselves - Was Cheating. Yet, Thanks To Such Fellows, Tragedies Are Possible.

She Was Happy, And Perfectly In Line With The Tradition Of Those Women They Used To Call "ruined," "fallen," Feckless, Bitches In Heat, Ravished Dolls, Sweet Sluts, Instant Princesses, Hot Numbers, Great Lays, Succulent Morsels, Everybody's Darlings . . .

Perhaps All Music, Even The Newest, Is Not So Much Something Discovered As Something That Re-emerges From Where It Lay Buried In The Memory, Inaudible As A Melody Cut In A Disc Of Flesh. A Composer Lets Me Hear A Song That Has Always Been Shut Up Silent Within Me.

A Man Must Dream A Long Time In Order To Act With Grandeur, And Dreaming Is Nursed In Darkness.

It's The Hour When Night Breaks Away From The Day, My Dove, Let Me Go.