An Artist Cannot Speak About

A Prig Always Finds A Last Refuge In Responsibility.

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.

Take A Commonplace, Clean It And Polish It, Light It So That It Produces The Same Effect Of Youth And Freshness And Originality And Spontaneity As It Did Originally, And You Have Done A Poet's Job. The Rest Is Literature.

The Poet Is At The Disposal Of The Night. His Role Is Humble, He Must Clean House And Await Its Due Visitation.

I Have Never Felt Any Connection With My Family. There Is—i Must Say Simply—something In Me That Is Not In My Family. That Was Not Visible In My Father Or Mother. I Do Not Know Its Origin.