Poetry Is As Precise A

The Principal Thing In This World Is To Keep One's Soul Aloft.

You Can't Find The Soul With A Scalpel.

The One Way Of Tolerating Existence Is To Lose Oneself In Literature As In A Perpetual Orgy.

I Took Eugene Sue's Arthur From The Reading-room. It's Indescribable, Enough To Make You Vomit. You Have To Read This To Realize The Pitifulness Of Money, Success, And The Public. Literature Has Become Consumptive. It Spits And Slobbers, Covers Its Blisters With Salve And Sticking-plaster, And Has Grown Bald From Too Much Hair-slicking. It Would Take Christ Of Art To Cure This Leper.

Maybe Happiness Too Is A Metaphor Invented On A Day Of Boredom