The whole mad swirl of everything that was to come began then.

If you tell a true story, you can't be wrong.

To the children and the innocent it's all the same.

Anybody doesn't like these pitchers don't like potry, see? Anybody don't like potry go home see television shots of big hatted cowboys being tolerated by kind horses. Robert Frank, Swiss, unobtrusive, nice, with that little camera that he raises and snaps with one hand he sucked a sad poem right out of America onto film, taking rank among the poets of the world. To Robert Frank I now give this message: You got eyes.

Will you love me in December as you do in May?

Yeah," I said, "but you're an artist. You don't believe in decency and honesty and gratitude. Where shall we eat?

I have the right ideas, but my words are too... complicated. I need to simplify them, so that people won't get lost in the dark when they see and hear them. I want them to shine like beacons of light in a world of overly complicated darkness. One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.