The Final Purpose Of Art Is To

Love Was Love, One Could Find It With Anyone, One Could Find It Anywhere. It Was Just That You Could Never Keep It. Not Unless You Were Ready To Die For It.

We Are All So Guilty At The Way We Have Allowed The World Around Us To Become More Ugly And Tasteless Every Year That We Surrender To Terror And Steep Ourselves In It.

The Paradox Is That No Love Can Prove So Intense As The Love Of Two Narcissists For Each Other.

We Think Of Marilyn Who Was Every Man's Love Affair With America. Marilyn Monroe Who Was Blonde And Beautiful And Had A Sweet Little Rinky-dink Of A Voice And All The Cleanliness Of All The Clean American Backyards.

There Is No Greater Impotence In All The World Like Knowing You Are Right And That The Wave Of The World Is Wrong, Yet The Wave Crashes Upon You.