I Am Not, And Never Was, And

I Am Sufficiently Proud Of My Knowing Something To Be Modest About My Not Knowing All.

I Am Thinking Of Aurochs And Angels, The Secret Of Durable Pigments, Prophetic Sonnets, The Refuge Of Art. And This Is The Only Immortality You And I May Share, My Lolita.

Man Exists Only Insofar As He Is Separated From His Surroundings. The Cranium Is A Space-traveler's Helmet. Stay Inside Or You Perish.

No Author Has Created With Less Emphasis Such Pathetic Characters As Chekhov Has.

In And Out Of My Heart Flowed My Rainbow Blood.