In Adultery, There Is Usually Tenderness And

Art Is Endless Like A River Flowing, Passing, Yet Remaining.

I Don't Think There's Any Essential Difference, At Least For Me, Between Writing Poetry And Writing Prose.

Poets, Like The Blind, Can See In The Dark.

The Possibilities Of The Art Of Combination Are Not Infinite, But They Tend To Be Frightful.

The Web Of Time - The Strands Of Which Approach One Another, Bifurcate, Intersect, Or Ignore Each Other Through The Centuries - Embraces "every" Possibility. We Do Not Exist In Most Of Them. In Some You Exist And Not I, While In Others I Do, And You Do Not, And In Yet Others Both Of Us Exist.