Tropical Nights Are Hammocks For Lovers.

He Understands My Pity For His Ridiculous, Humiliating Physical Necessity.

But I Lie. I Embellish. My Words Are Not Deep Enough. They Disguise, They Conceal. I Will Not Rest Until I Have Told Of My Descent Into A Sensuality Which Was As Dark, As Magnificent, As Wild, As My Moments Of Mystic Creation Have Been Dazzling, Ecstatic, Exalted.

There Are Only Two Kinds Of Freedom In The World; The Freedom Of The Rich And Powerful, And The Freedom Of The Artist And The Monk Who Renounces Possessions.

I Adore The Struggle You Carry In Yourself. I Adore Your Terrifying Sincerity.

Things Aren't The Way They Are, They're The Way You Are