Whenever There Has Been Talk

If Work And Leisure Are Soon To Be Subordinated To This One Utopian Principle - Absolute Busyness - Then Utopia And Melancholy Will Come To Coincide: An Age Without Conflict Will Dawn, Perpetually Busy - And Without Consciousness.

What Can You Say About A Guy Who Lets Himself Be Saddled With A Baby When He's Thirty-five And Losing His Hair? Love? Forget About That Till You're Past Seventy, And By Then The Parts Will Have Stopped Working Anyway.

Art Is Accusation, Expression, Passion. Art Is Black Charcoal Crushing White Paper.

As A Child I Was A Great Liar. Fortunately My Mother Liked My Lies. I Promised Her Marvelous Things.

I Shall Speak Of How Melancholy And Utopia Preclude One Another. How They Fertilize One Another... Of The Revulsion That Follows One Insight And Precedes The Next... Of Superabundance And Surfeit. Of Stasis In Progress. And Of Myself, For Whom Melancholy And Utopia Are Heads And Tails Of The Same Coin.