...."the sound of a barrel organ rising from the deepest golden vein of the day; two or three bars of a chorus, played on a distant piano over and over again, melting in the sun on the white pavement, lost in the fire of high noon.

Lifelessness is only a disguise behind which hide unknown forms of life.

...."the sound of a barrel organ rising from the deepest golden vein of the day; two or three bars of a chorus, played on a distant piano over and over again, melting in the sun on the white pavement, lost in the fire of high noon.

There are things than cannot ever occur with any precision. They are too big and too magnificent to be contained in mere facts. They are merely trying to occur, they are checking whether the ground of reality can carry them. And they quickly withdraw, fearing to loose their integrity in the frailty of realization.

One thing must be avoided at all costs: narrow-mindedness, pedantry, dull pettiness.

And one's wandering proved as sterile and pointless as the excitement produced by a close study of pornographic albums.

Reality is as thin as paper and betrays with all its cracks its imitative character.