I found that what I had desired all my life was not to live - if what others are doing is called living - but to express myself.

Fame is an illusive thing - here today, gone tomorrow. The fickle, shallow mob raises its heroes to the pinnacle of approval today and hurls them into oblivion tomorrow at the slightest whim; cheers today, hisses tomorrow; utter forgetfulness in a few months.

Life moves on, whether we act as cowards or heroes.

The essential thing is to WANT to sing. This then is a song. I am singing.

In every man's heart there is anchored a little schooner.

She rises up out of a sea of faces and embraces me, embraces me passionately--- a thousand eyes, noses, fingers, legs, bottles, windows, purses, saucers all glaring at us an we in each other's arm oblivious. I sit down beside her and she talks--- a flood of talk. Wild consumptive notes of hysteria, perversion, leprosy. I hear not a word because she is beautiful and I love her and now I am happy and willing to die.

The only difference between the Adamic man and the man of today is that the one was born to Paradise and the other has to create it.