The Smell Of Opium Is The Least

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.

I Feel Myself Inhabited By A Force Or Being -- Very Little Known To Me. It Gives The Orders; I Follow.

Enough Of Clouds, Waves, Aquariums, Water-sprites And Nocturnal Scents; What We Need Is Music Of The Earth, Everyday Music..music One Can Live In Like A House.

Since The Day Of My Birth, My Death Began Its Walk. It Is Walking Toward Me, Without Hurrying.

One Of The Characteristics Of The Dream Is That Nothing Surprises Us In It. With No Regret, We Agree To Live In It With Strangers, Completely Cut Off From Our Habits And Friends.