Come To The Edge.' 'we Can't. We're

I Don't Want To Work. I Want To Smoke.

In This Mirror, I Am Enclosed A Live And Real As You. Imagine Angels And Not Like The Reflections.

Paint With Whatever Material You Please - With Pipes, Postage Stamps, Postcards Or Playing Cards, Painted Paper, Or Newspapers.

One Day/ One Day I Waited For Myself/ I Said To Myself Guillaume It's Time You Came/ So I Could Know Just Who I Am/ I Who Know Others.

Without Poets, Without Artists, Men Would Soon Weary Of Nature's Monotony. The Sublime Idea Men Have Of The Universe Would Collapse With Dizzying Speed. The Order Which We Find In Nature, And Which Is Only An Effect Of Art, Would At Once Vanish. Everything Would Break Up In Chaos. There Would Be No Seasons, No Civilization, No Thought, No Humanity; Even Life Would Give Way, And The Impotent Void Would Reign Everywhere.