The More Things I Threw Away, The

The Genius Of The Primitive Mind Is That It Can Render Human Helplessness In Noble And Beautiful Ways.

A Person Rises On A Word And Falls On A Syllable.

You Become A Serious Novelist By Living Long Enough.

All Who Have Their Reward On Earth, The Fruits Of Painful Superstition And Blind Zeal, Naught Seeking But The Praise Of Men, Here Find Fit Retribution, Empty As Their Deeds.

Why Something And Not Nothing? Why Music And Not Noise?