A Car Can Massage Organs

A Picture Is Not A Window...an Abstract Refers To No Reality But Its Own.

After The Writer's Death, Reading His Journal Is Like Receiving A Long Letter.

May The Devil Himself Splatter You With Dung.

The Poet, By Composing Poems, Uses A Language That Is Neither Dead Nor Living, That Few People Speak, And Few People Understand We Are The Servants Of An Unknown Force That Lives Within Us, Manipulates Us, And Dictates This Language To Us.

Youth Can Only Assert Itself Through The Conviction That Its Ventures Surpass All Others And Resemble Nothing.