On golden chairs Sitting at ease, you paid for the songs which we chanted To those less lucky. You paid us for drying their tears And for comforting all those whom you had wounded.

Spring is noticed, if at all By people sitting in railway trains.

All the gang of those who rule us Hope our quarrels never stop Helping them to split and fool us So they can remain on top.

The rain Never falls upwards. When the wound Stops hurting What hurts is The scar.

In the middle classes the gifted son of a family is always the poorest-usually a writer or artist with no sense for speculation-and in a family of peasants, wh…

How do you get to the Met? Money, lots and lots of money.

Mother, when you're disappointed, you get that awful suffering look on your face, like the picture of Jesus' mother in the museum!