On This Narrow Planet, We Have Only

There Are Days When Solitude, For Someone My Age, Is A Heady Wine That Intoxicates You With Freedom, Others When It Is A Bitter Tonic, And Still Others When It Is A Poison That Makes You Beat Your Head Against The Wall.

Truffles Must Come To The Table In Their Own Stock And As You Break Open This Jewel Sprung From A Poverty-stricken Soil, Imagine - If You Have Never Visited It - The Desolate Kingdom Where It Rules.

It Is Wise To Apply The Oil Of Refined Politeness To The Mechanisms Of Friendship.

The Lovesick, The Betrayed, And The Jealous All Smell Alike.

At The Top Of The Iron Staircase Leading To The Stage, The Good, Dry, Dusty Warmth Wraps Me Round Like A Comfortable Dirty Cloak.