Old Paper
I often open Samuel Beckett’s More Pricks Than Kicks, raise it to my face, close my eyes, and inhale. The pages are as pungent as a dry old asiago. I stole the book from a guest house in Mexico. . . .
Brick, a literary journal
Brick
PO Box 609, Stn P
Toronto, ON M5S 2Y4
Canada
Works of art are of an infinite loneliness and with nothing to be so little reached as with criticism. Only love can grasp and hold and fairly judge them. — Rainer Maria Rilke