Still, Vicious Or Virtuous, Love

To Write You Must Be Warm, Fed, Loved And Sober.

Everyone Should Be Forcibly Transplanted To Another Continent From Their Family At The Age Of Three.

Life And Literature Is A Question Of What One Thrills To, And Further Than That No Man Shall Ever Go Without Putting His Foot In A Turd.

The Trees Are Coming Into Leaf Like Something Almost Being Said.

Heads In The Women's Ward On Pillow After Pillow Lies The Wild White Hair And Staring Eyes; Jaws Stand Open; Necks Are Stretched With Every Tendon Sharply Sketched; A Bearded Mouth Talks Silently To Someone No One Else Can See. Sixty Years Ago They Smiled At Lover, Husband, First-born Child. Smiles Are For Youth. For Old Age Come Death's Terror And Delirium.