Until You Know Who Has Lent What

'tis The White Stag, Fame, We're A-hunting, Bid The World's Hounds Come To Horn!

Somebody Said That I Am The Last American Living The Tragedy Of Europe.

I Should Consent To Breed Under Pressure, If I Were Convinced In Any Way Of The Reasonableness Of Reproducing The Species. But My Nerves And The Nerves Of Any Woman I Could Live With Three Months, Would Produce Only A Victim... Lacking In Impulse, A Mere Bundle Of Discriminations. If I Were Wealthy I Might Subsidize A Stud Of Young Peasants, Or A Tribal Group In Tahiti.

The Modern Artist Must Live By Craft And Violence. His Gods Are Violent Gods. Those Artists, So Called, Whose Work Does Not Show This Strife, Are Uninteresting.

I Dunno What My 23 Infantile Years In America Signify. I Left As Soon As Motion Was Autarchic -- I Mean My Motion.