The great poet draws his creations only from out of his own reality.

The world we suggest is a new wild west. A sensuous evil world. Strange and haunting, the path of the sun.

It is no use dealing with illusions and make-believes. We must look at the facts. The world ... is too dangerous for anyone to be able to afford to nurse illusions. We must look at realities.

I sit at my window gazing The world passes by, nods to me And is gone.

The more real you get, the more unreal the world gets.

The same stream of life that runs through the world runs through my veins night and day.