What Are Stars But Points In The

Truth Disappears With The Telling Of It.

Frost In January Minus 20 For A Week. Dead Birds Frozen On The Branch—they Fall With The First Thaw Like Ripe Fruit—death-ripened. We Shall All End Like Them—just A Stain In The Snow.

I Had Become, With The Approach Of Night, Once More Aware Of Loneliness And Time - Those Two Companions Without Whom No Journey Can Yield Us Anything.

I Suppose The Secret Of His Success Is In His Tremendous Idleness Which Almost Approaches The Supernatural.

All Artists Today Are Expected To Cultivate A Little Fashionable Unhappiness.