The only unbearable thing is that nothing is unbearable.

My wisdom is as spurned as chaos. What is my nothingness, compared to the amazement that awaits you?

The Poet makes himself a seer through a long, vast and painstaking derangement of all the senses

Love...no such thing. Whatever it is that binds families and married couples together, that's not love. That's stupidity or selfishness or fear. Love doesn't exist. Self interest exists, attachment based on personal gain exists, complacency exists. But not love. Love has to be reinvented, that’s certain.

Come from forever, and you will go everywhere.

Only divine love bestows the keys of knowledge.

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.