the lion sleeps in the sun. its nose on its paws. it can kill a man. - Wallace Stevens

The wind in which the dead leaves blow. Here I inhale profounder strength And as I am, I speak and move And things are as I think they are And say they are on the blue guitar.

There is a perfect rout of characters in every man — and every man is like an actor’s trunk, full of strange creatures, new & old. But an actor and his trunk are two different things

I certainly do not exist from nine to six, when I am at the office.