The Cinema Is Death At Work.

Poetry Is An Ethic. By Ethic I Mean A Secret Code Of Behavior, A Discipline Constructed And Conducted According To The Capabilities Of A Man Who Rejects The Falsifications Of The Categorical Imperative.

The World Owes Its Enchantment To These Curious Creatures And Their Fancies; But Its Multiple Complicity Rejects Them. Thistledown Spirits, Tragic, Heartrending In Their Evanescence, They Must Go Blowing Headlong To Perdition.

History Is A Combination Of Reality And Lies. The Reality Of History Becomes A Lie. The Unreality Of The Fable Becomes The Truth.

Style Is A Simple Way Of Saying Complicated Things.

The Runner Stopped Dead, Lost His Balance, Froze In One Of Those Violent Attitudes In Which The Photographers Petrify Living Reality.