The Speed Of A Runaway Horse Counts

I Have Not Looked At A Newspaper In Twenty Years; If One Is Brought Into The Room, I Flee. This Is Not Because I Am Indifferent But Because One Cannot Follow Every Road.

I Have Seafoam In My Veins, I Understand The Language Of Waves.

The Dead Drug Leaves A Ghost Behind. At Certain Hours It Haunts The House.

My Little Renoirs. Matisse Describes Having Seen Renoir Make These Tiny Canvases. When He Had Finished Working, He Would Use Up The Color Left In His Brushes On Them.

I Succeeded In Bewitching A Fair Number And In Being Intoxicated With My Mistakes.