Writers, You Know, Are The

Art Is What Remains Of Religion: The Dance Above The Yawning Abyss.

Solitude Is The Profoundest Fact Of The Human Condition. Man Is The Only Being Who Knows He Is Alone, And The Only One Who Seeks Out Another. His Nature - If That Word Can Be Used In Reference To Man, Who Has ‘invented’ Himself By Saying ‘no’ To Nature - Consists In His Longing To Realize Himself In Another. Man Is Nostalgia And A Search For Communion. Therefore, When He Is Aware Of Himself He Is Aware Of His Lack Of Another, That Is, Of His Solitude.

The American: A Titan Enamored Of Progress, A Fanatical Giant Who Worships "getting Things Done" But Never Asks Himself What He Is Doing Nor Why He Is Doing It.

My Body, Plowed By Your Body, Will Turn Into A Field Where One Is Sown And A Hundred Reaped.

Beyond Happiness Or Unhappiness, Though It Is Both Things, Love Is Intensity; It Does Not Give Us Eternity But Life, That Second In Which The Doors Of Time And Space Open Just A Crack: Here Is There And Now Is Always.