Love Points The Way. Desire

It Could Draw From A Greater Reservoir Of Freedom. The Irony Could Develop An Even Greater Ease.

Strictly Speaking, There Are No Holidays For Art; Art Pursues You Everywhere, And That's Just Fine With The Artist.

Women Age Early, And Their Mistake Is Not Knowing Where To Hide All The Time That Lies Behind Them So That No One Sees It. What Are They To Do, Devour It Like The Umbilical Cords Of Their Children? Hell And Damnation!

I Cannot Stand Public Attention, I Just Can't. Of Course, If I May I Might Write Something Instead

Sunday, The Day For The Language Of Leisure.