At Sixty-three Years Of Age,

Never Touch A Butterfly's Wing With Your Finger.

A Happy Childhood Is Poor Preparation For Human Contacts.

The Word 'pure' Has Never Revealed An Intelligent Meaning To Me. I Can Only Use The Word To Quench An Optical Thirst For Purity In The Transparencies That Evoke It - In Bubbles, In A Volume Of Water, And In The Imaginary Latitudes Entrenched, Beyond Reach, At The Very Center Of A Dense Crystal.

In Its Early Stages, Insomnia Is Almost An Oasis In Which Those Who Have To Think Or Suffer Darkly Take Refuge.

Sincerity Is Not A Spontaneous Flower Nor Is Modesty Either.