I Had Little Talent For

That Desert Of Loneliness And Recrimination That Men Call Love.

Decidedly It Will Never Have Been Given To Me To Finish Anything, Except Perhaps Breathing. One Must Not Be Greedy.

My Mistakes Are My Life.

In The Landscape Of Extinction, Precision Is Next To Godliness.

Words And Images Run Riot In My Head, Pursuing, Flying, Clashing, Merging, Endlessly. But Beyond This Tumult There Is A Great Calm, And A Great Indifference, Never Really To Be Troubled By Anything Again.