Stupidity Is The Deliberate Cultivation Of Ignorance.

What's Any Artist, But The Dregs Of His Work? The Human Shambles That Follows It Around. What's Left Of The Man When The Work's Done But A Shambles Of Apology.

How Some Of The Writers I Come Across Get Through Their Books Without Dying Of Boredom Is Beyond Me.

Tragedy Was Foresworn, In Ritual Denial Of The Ripe Knowledge That We Are Drawing Away From One Another, That We Share Only One Thing, Share The Fear Of Belonging To Another, Or To Others, Or To God; Love Or Money, Tender Equated In Advertising And The World, Where Only Money Is Currency, And Under Dead Trees And Brittle Ornaments Prehensile Hands Exchange Forgeries Of What The Heart Dare Not Surrender.

Say A Word, Say A Thousand To Me On The Telephone And I Shall Choose The Wrong One To Cling To As Though You Had Said It After Long Deliberation When Only I Provoked It From You, I Will Cling To It From Among A Thousand, To Be Provoked And Hurl It Back With Something I Mean No More Than You Meant That, Something For You To Cling To And Retreat Clinging To.

...mementos Of This World, In Which The Things Worth Being Were So Easily Exchanged For The Things Worth Having.