Art Is A Marriage Of The Conscious

In Exiling Myself I Am Not Exiling A Monster, But A Man Whom Society Will Not Allow To Live, Since It Considers One Of The Mysterious Cogs In God's Masterpiece To Be A Mistake.

Children And Lunatics Cut The Gordian Knot Which The Poet Spends His Life Patiently Trying To Untie.

I Have Not Looked At A Newspaper In Twenty Years; If One Is Brought Into The Room, I Flee. This Is Not Because I Am Indifferent But Because One Cannot Follow Every Road.

Don't For A Moment Believe He Was Killing The Young; He Was Costuming Angels.

Continue Reading Proust. His Magnificent Intelligence Is Particularly Fond Of Describing Stupidity. Which Is Ultimately Exhausting.