I can imagine myself on my death-bed$$$ spent utterly with lust to touch the next world$$$ like a boy asking for his first kiss from a woman.

A man said to the universe: "Sir$$$ I exist!" "However$$$" replied the universe$$$ "The fact has not created in me a sense of obligation."

Sometimes$$$ the most profound of awakenings come wrapped in the quietest of moments.

Wit ought to be a glorious treat$$$ like caviar. Never spread it about like marmalade.

I love criticism just so long as it's unqualified praise.

All things change; nothing perishes.

I like the people. But$$$ considered generally$$$ they are a collection of ingenious blockheads.

This is the greatest momemt of your life and you're out missing it.

Words are like breath. You say them and they're gone. But writing traps them.

I paint objects as I think them$$$ not as I see them.