Reading is a pleasure, but to finish reading, to come to the blank space at the end, is also a pleasure.
A yak is a prehistoric cabbage; of that, we can be sure.
The winter does what it can for its children.
Imagine a painter crucified by his subject!
Therefore bivouac we On this great, blond highway, unimpeded by Veiled scruples, worn conundrums. Morning is Impermanent. Grab sex things, swing up Over the horizon like a boy On a fishing expedition.
I write with experiences in mind, but I don't write about them, I write out of them.