Let's go." "We can't." "Why not?" "We're waiting for Godot.

Dance first. Think later. It's the natural order.

I pause to record that I feel in extraordinary form. Delirium perhaps.

An imaginative adventure does not enjoy the same corsets as reportage.

Life is habit. Or rather life is a succession of habits.

Decidedly it will never have been given to me to finish anything, except perhaps breathing. One must not be greedy.

All poetry, as discriminated from the various paradigms of prosody, is prayer.