Memories Images, Once They Are Fixed In

Nobody These Days Holds The Written Word In Such High Esteem As Police States Do.

Now, The Old Man Happened To Be The Lord.

The Universe Is The Mirror In Which We Can Contemplate Only What We Have Learned To Know In Ourselves

In Love, As In Gluttony, Pleasure Is A Matter Of The Utmost Precision.

Literature Remains Alive Only If We Set Ourselves Immeasurable Goals, Far Beyond All Hope Of Achievement. Only If Poets And Writers Set Themselves Tasks That No One Else Dares Imagine Will Literature Continue To Have A Function.