In The Arts, People Are Always Waiting

'you Spin In The Sky, The World Spins Under You, And You Step From Land To Land, While We . . .' She Turned Her Head Right, Left, And Her Black Hair Curled And Uncurled On The Shoulder Of Her Coat. 'we Have Our Dull, Circled Lives, Bound In Gravity, Worshiping You!'

Pain ... After You've Lived With It Long Enough, Isn't Pain Anymore. It's Something Else.

It’s A Very New, Not To Mention Vulgar, Idea That The Spectator’s Experience Should Be Identical To, Or Even Have Anything To Do With, The Artist’s.

In Myths Things Always Turn Into Their Opposites As One Version Supersedes The Next.

It Is Not That Love Sometimes Makes Mistakes, But That It Is, Essentially, A Mistake. We Fall In Love When Our Imagination Projects Nonexistent Perfections On To Another Person. One Day The Phantasmagoria Vanishes, And With It Love Dies.