The Artist," an ancient sage had once said, "is always sitting on the doorsteps of the rich.

Insanity is relative. Who sets the norm?

Fay had a spot of blood on the left side of her mouth and I took a wet cloth and wiped it off. Women were meant to suffer; no wonder they asked for constant declarations of love.

Experience can dull. With most men experience is a series of mistakes; the more experience you have the less you know.

Pretty words, as pretty women, wrinkle up and die.

there's no chance at all: we are all trapped by a singular fate.

The street to my left was backed up with traffic and I watched the people waiting patiently in the cars. There was almost always a man and a women, staring straight ahead, not talking. It was, finally, for everyone, a matter of waiting. You waited and you waited- for the hospital, the doctor, the plumber, the madhouse, the jail, papa death himself. First the signal red, then the signal was green. The citizens of the world ate food and watched t.v. and worried about their jobs or lack of the same, while they waited.