I Could I Trust Starve

The Eyes Of This Dead Lady Speak To Me For Here Was Love, Was Not To Be Drowned Out. And Here Desire, Not To Be Kissed Away. The Eyes Of This Dead Lady Speak To Me.

And New York Is The Most Beautiful City In The World? It Is Not Far From It. No Urban Night Is Like The Night There... Squares After Squares Of Flame, Set Up And Cut Into The Aether. Here Is Our Poetry, For We Have Pulled Down The Stars To Our Will.

I Should Consent To Breed Under Pressure, If I Were Convinced In Any Way Of The Reasonableness Of Reproducing The Species. But My Nerves And The Nerves Of Any Woman I Could Live With Three Months, Would Produce Only A Victim... Lacking In Impulse, A Mere Bundle Of Discriminations. If I Were Wealthy I Might Subsidize A Stud Of Young Peasants, Or A Tribal Group In Tahiti.

The Real Meditation Is ... The Meditation On One's Identity. Ah, Voilà Une Chose!! You Try It. You Try Finding Out Why You're You And Not Somebody Else. And Who In The Blazes Are You Anyhow? Ah, Voilà Une Chose!

It Is Difficult To Write A Paradiso When All The Superficial Indications Are That You Ought To Write An Apocalypse.