The Richness Of Life Lies

When We Read, We Are Not Looking For New Ideas, But To See Our Own Thoughts Given The Seal Of Confirmation On The Printed Page. The Words That Strike Us Are Those That Awake An Echo In A Zone We Have Already Made Our Own—the Place Where We Live—and The Vibration Enables Us To Find Fresh Starting Points Within Ourselves

Traveling Is A Brutality. It Forces You To Trust Strangers And To Lose Sight Of All That Familiar Comfort Of Home And Friends. You Are Constantly Off Balance. Nothing Is Yours Except The Essential Things: Air, Sleep, Dreams, Sea, The Sky - All Things Tending Towards The Eternal Or What We Imagine Of It.

It Is Not The Actual Enjoyment Of Pleasure That We Desire. What We Want Is To Test The Futility Of That Pleasure, So As To Be No Longer Obsessed By It.

No One Ever Lacks A Good Reason For Suicide.

Remember, Writing Poetry Is Like Making Love: One Will Never Know Whether One's Own Pleasure Is Shared.