Where words leave off, gesture begins. Don't we speak of a person being speechless with rage, dancing with impatience, setting his teeth? The final motions of the soul are speechless, animal, grotesque, or of an incomparable beauty.

One murder makes a villain; millions, a hero.

Greed has poisoned men's souls.

As for politics, I’m an anarchist. I hate governments and rules and fetters. Can’t stand caged animals. People must be free.

Beauty is an omnipresence of death and loveliness, a smiling sadness that we discern in nature and all things, a mystic communion that the poet feels.

The glamour of it all! New York! America!

Greed has poisoned men's souls, has barricaded the world with hate, has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed.