Capitalism Places Every Man In

Now, Here Is The Point About The Self: It Is Insatiable. It Is Always, Always Hankering. It Is What You Might Call Rapacious To A Fault. The Great Flaming Mouth To The Thing Is Never In This World Going To Be Stuff Full.

I Am Never Needlessly Obscure - I Am Needfully Obscure, When I Am Obscure.

What An Artist Does, Is Fail. Any Reading Of The Literature, (i Mean The Literature Of Artistic Creation), However Summary, Will Persuade You Instantly That The Paradigmatic Artistic Experience Is That Of Failure. The Actualization Fails To Meet, Equal, The Intuition. There Is Something "out There" Which Cannot Be Brought "here". This Is Standard. I Don't Mean Bad Artists, I Mean Good Artists. There Is No Such Thing As A "successful Artist" (except, Of Course, In Worldly Terms).

There Is No Moment That Exceeds In Beauty That Moment When One Looks At A Woman And Finds That She Is Looking At You In The Same Way That You Are Looking At Her. The Moment In Which She Bestows That Look That Says, "proceed With Your Evil Plan, Sumbitch.

Who Among Us Is Not Thinking About Divorce, Except For A Few Tiny-minded Stick-in-the-muds Who Don't Count?