Every Artist Is An Unhappy Lover.

All Artists Dream Of A Silence Which They Must Enter, As Some Creatures Return To The Sea To Spawn.

Time Can Divorce Us From The Reality Of People, It Can Separate Us From People And Turn Them Into Ghosts. Or Rather It Is We Who Turn Them Into Ghosts Or Demons. Some Kinds Of Fruitless Preoccupations With The Past Can Create Such Simulacra, And They Can Exercise Power, Like Those Heroes At Troy Fighting For A Phantom Helen.

There Is Nothing Like Early Promiscuous Sex For Dispelling Life's Bright Mysterious Expectations.

To Be Understood Is Not A Human Right. Even To Understand Oneself Is Not A Human Right.

Perhaps When Distant People On Other Planets Pick Up Some Wavelength Of Ours All They Hear Is A Continuous Scream.