The Body Is An Instrument Which Only

To Write Is To Descend, To Excavate, To Go Underground.

The Secret Of Joy Is The Mastery Of Pain.

In New York The Acoustics Are Good For Laughter, For Life Is All External, All Action, No Thought, No Meditation, No Dreaming, No Reflection, Only The Exuberance Of Action.

When One Is Pretending The Entire Body Revolts.

Sometimes We Reveal Ourselves When We Are Least Like Ourselves.