The Bad Poet Is A Toady Mimicking

Everything Ultimately Fails, For We Die, And That Is Either The Penultimate Failure Or Our Most Enigmatical Achievement.

Men Are Mad Most Of Their Lives; Few Live Sane, Fewer Die So. The Acts Of People Are Baffling Unless We Realize That Their Wits Are Disordered. Man Is Driven To Justice By His Lunacy.

What Is Most Appalling In An F. Scott Fitzgerald Book Is That It Is Peopleless Fiction: Fitzgerald Writes About Spectral, Muscledsuits; Dresses, Hats, And Sleeves Which Have Some Sort Of Vague, Libidinous Throb. These Are Plainly The Product Of Sickness.

It Takes A Long Time To Understand Nothing.

Every Decision You Make Is A Mistake.