True alchemy lies in this formula: ‘Your memory and your senses are but the nourishment of your creative impulse’.

To whom shall I hire myself out? What beast should I adore? What holy image is attacked? What hearts shall I break? What lies shall I uphold? In what blood tread?

...as for me, I am intact; and I don't care.

And I am still alive-what though, my damnation is eternal. A man who deliberately mutilates himself is truly damned, is he not? I believe that I am in hell, therefore I am.

And again: No more gods! no more gods! Man is King, Man is God! - But the great Faith is Love!

-But I've just noticed that my mind is asleep.

What is my nothingness to the stupor that awaits you?