I Think It Is Interesting That We

You Come To The United States Not Knowing What To Expect. Then All Your Worst Prejudices Are Confirmed.

To Write Poetry And To Commit Suicide, Apparently So Contradictory, Had Really Been The Same, Attempts At Escape.

All Pasts Are Like Poems; One Can Derive A Thousand Things, But Not Live In Them.

Alive. Alive In The Way That Death Is Alive.

Hazard Has Conditioned Us To Live In Hazard. All Our Pleasures Are Dependent On It. Even Though I Arrange For A Pleasure, And Look Forward To It, My Eventual Enjoyment Of It Is Still A Matter Of Hazard. Wherever Time Passes, There Is Hazard.