Gin and drugs, dear lady, gin and drugs.

And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices in the lost lilac and the lost sea voices and the weak spirit quickens to rebel for the bent golden-rod and the lost sea smell quickens to recover.

There is no absolute point of view from which real and ideal can be finally separated and labelled.

When the Stranger says: "What is the meaning of this city? Do you huddle close together because you love each other?" What will you answer? "We all dwell together To make money from each other"? or "This is a community"? Oh my soul, be prepared for the coming of the Stranger. Be prepared for him who knows how to ask questions.

In order to arrive at what you are not, you must go through the way in which you are not.

All dash to and fro in motor cars. Familiar with the roads and settled nowhere.

And through the spaces of the dark Midnight shakes the memory As a madman shakes a dead geranium.