Oh, Must We Dream Our Dreams And

Something Needn't Be Large To Be Good.

I Am Sorry For People Who Can't Write Letters. But I Suspect Also That You And I ... Love To Write Them Because It's Kind Of Like Working Without Really Doing It.

It Is Like What We Imagine Knowledge To Be: Dark, Salt, Clear, Moving, Utterly Free.

The Pigs Stuck Out Their Little Feet And Snored.

What One Seems To Want In Art, In Experiencing It, Is The Same Thing That Is Necessary For Its Creation, A Self-forgetful, Perfectly Useless Concentration.