We Cannot Live, Suffer Or

Though Man Is The Only Beast That Can Write, He Has Small Reason To Be Proud Of It. When He Utters Something That Is Wise It Is Nothing That The River Horse Does Not Know, And Most Of His Creations Are The Result Of Accident.

The Bad Poet Is A Toady Mimicking Nature.

Narcissus Never Wrote Well Nor Was A Friend.

Everything Ultimately Fails, For We Die, And That Is Either The Penultimate Failure Or Our Most Enigmatical Achievement.

Every Decision You Make Is A Mistake.