Words [are] More Beautiful Than A Found

So If Hunger Provokes Wailing And Wailing Brings The Breast; If The Breast Permits Sucking And Milk Suggests Its Swallow; If Swallowing Issues In Sleep And Stomachy Comfort, Then Need, Ache, Message, Object, Act, And Satisfaction Are Soon Associated Like Charms On A Chain; Shortly Our Wants Begin To Envision The Things Which Well Reduce Them, And The Organism Is Finally Said To Wish.

It Art Can Only Succeed Through The Cooperating Imagination And Intelligence Of Its Consumers, Who Fill Out, For Themselves, The Artist's World And Make It Round, And Whose Own Special Genius Partly Determine The Ultimate Glory Of It.

It Is Discouraging To Leave The Past Behind Only To See It Coming Toward You Like The Thunderstorm Which Drenched You Yesterday.

I Do Have A Very Conscious Desire Not To Be Academic. I'm Antiacademic. I Hate Jargon. I Hate That Sort Of Pretension. I Am A Person Who [commits] Breaches Of Decorum - Not In Private Life, But In My Work. They Are Part Of My Mode Of Operation. That Kind Of Playfulness Is Part Of My Nature In General. The Paradox That, In A Way, To Take Something Very Seriously, You Can't Always Be Serious About It.

I Write Because I Hate. A Lot. Hard.