I Drink So The Others Become Interesting.

A Poet, Any Real Poet, Is Simply An Alchemist Who Transmutes His Cynicism Regarding Human Beings Into An Optimism Regarding The Moon, The Stars, The Heavens, And The Flowers, To Say Nothing Of Spring, Love, And Dogs.

The Notion That As A Man Grows Older His Illusions Leave Him Is Not Quite True. What Is True Is That His Early Illusions Are Supplanted By New, And To Him, Equally Convincing Illusions.

It Is Also Said Of Me That I Now And Then Contradict Myself. Yes, I Improve Wonderfully As Time Goes On.

It Is The Mark Of A Superior Person That, Left To Themselves They Are Able Endlessly To Amuse, Interest And Entertain Themselves Out Of Their Personal Stock Of Meditations, Ideas, Criticisms, Memories, Philosophy, Humor And What Not.

Musicals Are To The Theater What Wines Are To A Substantial Dinner.