I took out my watch and listened to it clicking away, not knowing it couldn't even lie

Tell about the South. What's it like there. What do they do there. Why do they live there. Why do they live at all.

Everything in Los Angeles is too large, too loud and usually banal in concept… The plastic asshole of the world.

The work never matches the dream of perfection the artist has to start with.

My, my. A body does get around.

Whatever its symbol - cross or crescent or whatever - that symbol is man's reminder of his duty inside the human race.

A pair of jaybirds came up from nowhere, whirled up on the blast like gaudy scraps of cloth or paper and lodged in the mulberries, where they swung in raucous tilt and recover, screaming into the wind that ripped their harsh cries onward and away like scraps of paper or of cloth in turn.