The Artist Is The Antenna Of The

Allow Me To Say That I Would Long Since Have Committed Suicide Had Desisting Made Me A Professor Of Latin.

Install Me In Any Profession Save This Damn'd Profession Of Writing, Where One Needs One's Brains All The Time.

The Apparition Of These Faces In The Crowd; Petals On A Wet Black Bough.

The Thought Of What America Would Be Like If The Classics Had A Wide Circulation Troubles My Sleep (cantico Del Sole)

Gloom And Solemnity Are Entirely Out Of Place In Even The Most Rigorous Study Of An Art Originally Intended To Make Glad The Heart Of Man.