The fall of man stands a lie before Beethoven, a truth before Hitler.

I remember the people I knew in prison; I was very fortunate to know them - they came from 1910, 1920, 1930.

Ah, if I were dictator I'd have poets throwing bombs!

But when the conquered spirit breaks free And indicates a new light Who'll take care of the cats?

The lucky thing was that I was Italian; when the other Italians saw me fight back, they came to my defence.

My father took me back home, back to Greenwich Village, and he thought by taking me out of the orphanage he'd be out of the World War too. But no way - they got him anyway. He went in the Navy and then I lived on the streets.

Spirit is Life. It flows thru the death of me endlessly like a river unafraid of becoming the sea.