Soldiers, In The Name Of Democracy, Let

That's The Trouble With The World. We All Despise Ourselves.

The Glamour Of It All! New York! America!

The Saddest Thing I Can Imagine Is To Get Used To Luxury.

My Prodigious Sin Was, And Still Is, Being A Non-conformist. Although I Am Not A Communist I Refused To Fall In Line By Hating Them.

Why Should Poetry Have To Make Sense?