Every Artist Makes Himself Born. It Is

I Had Killed A Big Snake. I Was Now A Big Fellow.

Every Artist Makes Herself Born. You Must Bring The Artist Into The World Yourself.

Men Are All Right For Friends, But As Soon As You Marry Them They Turn Into Cranky Old Fathers, Even The Wild Ones.

Loyal? As Loyal As Anyone Who Plays Second Fiddle Ever Is.

I Kept As Still As I Could. Nothing Happened. I Did Not Expect Anything To Happen. I Was Something That Lay Under The Sun And Felt It, Like The Pumpkins, And I Did Not Want To Be Anything More. I Was Entirely Happy. Perhaps We Feel Like That When We Die And Become A Part Of Something Entire, Whether It Is Sun And Air, Or Goodness And Knowledge. At Any Rate, That Is Happiness; To Be Dissolved Into Something Complete And Great. When It Comes To One, It Comes As Naturally As Sleep.