A Beautiful Day With The Buoyancy Of

Did You Ever, In That Wonderland Wilderness Of Adolesence [sic] Ever, Quite Unexpectedly, See Something, A Dusk Sky, A Wild Bird, A Landscape, So Exquisite Terror Touched You At The Bone? And You Are Afraid, Terribly Afraid The Smallest Movement, A Leaf, Say, Turning In The Wind, Will Shatter All? That Is, I Think, The Way Love Is, Or Should Be: One Lives In Beautiful Terror.

All Literature Is Gossip.

Let's Take Everything Just As It Is.

That's The Difference Between The Serious Artist And The Craftsman--the Craftsman Can Take Material And Because Of His Abilities Do A Professional Job Of It. The Serious Artist, Like Proust, Is Like An Object Caught By A Wave And Swept To Shore. He's Obsessed By His Material; It's Like A Venom Working In His Blood And The Art Is The Antidote.

Mick Jagger Moves Like A Parody Between A Majorette Girl And Fred Astaire.