After The Writer's Death, Reading

Elegance Ceases To Exist When It Is Noticed.

Poets Don't Draw. They Unravel Their Handwriting And Then Tie It Up Again, But Differently.

The Speed Of A Runaway Horse Counts For Nothing.

Man Seeks To Escape Himself In Myth, And Does So By Any Means At His Disposal. Drugs, Alcohol, Or Lies. Unable To Withdraw Into Himself, He Disguises Himself. Lies And Inaccuracy Give Him A Few Moments Of Comfort.

Nothing Ever Gets Anywhere. The Earth Keeps Turning Round And Gets Nowhere. The Moment Is The Only Thing That Counts.