Man Does Not Fear Death, Only The

Any Artist Who Respects Himself Ought To Be, And In Every Sense Of The Term, An Emigre.

It Is In The Prime Of Youth That Man Sinks Into Empty Phrases And Grimaces. It's In This Smithy That Our Maturity Is Forged.

There Were Three Of Us; Witkiewicz, Bruno Schulz, And Myself--the Three Muskateers Of The Polish Avant-garde Between The Wars. Only Witkiewicz Remains To Be Discovered.

Great! I've Written Something Stupid, But I Haven't Signed A Contract With Anyone To Produce Solely Wise And Perfect Works. I Gave Vent To My Stupidity...and Here I Am, Reborn.

A Brilliant Liar; He Has Total Recall.