I listen to money singing, it's like looking down from long French windows at a provincial town. The slums, the canal, the churches ornate and mad in the evening sun. It is intensely sad.

The breath that sharpens life is life itself.

All the unhurried day / Your mind lay open like a drawer of knives.

I am always trying to 'preserve' things by getting other people to read what I have written, and feel what I felt.

Death is no different whined at than withstood.

Everyone should be forcibly transplanted to another continent from their family at the age of three.

We should be careful / Of each other, we should be kind / While there is still time.