The Plastic Virtues: Purity, Unity,

Memories Are Hunting Horns Whose Sound Dies On The Wind.

I Sing The Joy Of Wandering And The Pleasure Of The Wanderer's Death

I Don't Want To Work. I Want To Smoke.

One Can't Carry One's Father's Corpse About Everywhere.

Without Artists, The Order Which We Find In Nature, And Which Is Only An Effect Of Art, Would At Once Vanish.