Poetry Is A Religion With No Hope.

A Prig Always Finds A Last Refuge In Responsibility.

In Two Weeks, Despite These Notes, I Shall No Longer Believe In What I Am Experiencing Now. One Must Leave Behind A Trace Of This Journey Which Memory Forgets. One Must, When This Is Impossible, Write Or Draw Without Responding To The Romantic Solicitations Of Pain, Without Enjoying Suffering Like Music, Tieing A Pen To One's Foot If Need Be, Helping The Doctors Who Can Learn Nothing From Laziness.

Mirrors Would Do Well To Reflect A Little More Before Sending Back Images.

The Public Only Takes Up Yesterday As A Stick To Beat Today.

What Uniform Can I Wear To Hide My Heavy Heart? It Is Too Heavy. It Will Always Show.