Today In My Heart A Vague Trembling

In Each Thing There Is An Insinuation Of Death. Stillness, Silence, Serenity Are All Apprenticeships.

I Will Always Be On The Side Of Those Who Have Nothing And Who Are Not Even Allowed To Enjoy The Nothing They Have In Peace.

The Weeping Of The Guitar Begins. The Goblets Of Dawn Are Smashed. The Weeping Of The Guitar Begins. Useless To Silence It. Impossible To Silence It. It Weeps Monotonously As Water Weeps As The Wind Weeps Over Snowfields. Impossible To Silence It. It Weeps For Distant Things. Hot Southern Sands Yearning For White Camellias. Weeps Arrow Without Target Evening Without Morning And The First Dead Bird On The Branch. Oh, Guitar! Heart Mortally Wounded By Five Swords.

My Head Is Full Of Fire And Grief And My Tongue Runs Wild, Pierced With Shards Of Glass.

The Theater Has To Impose Itself On The Public, And Not The Public On The Theater... The Word "art" Should Be Written Everywhere, In The Auditorium And In The Dressing Rooms, Before The Word "business" Gets Written There.