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.

In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.

And from then on, I bathed in the Poem of the Sea, star-infused, and opalescent, devouring green azures

And from that time on I bathed in the Poem Of the Sea, star-infused and churned into milk, Devouring the green azures; where, entranced in pallid flotsam, A dreaming drowned man sometimes goes down.

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?

I saw that all beings are fated to happiness: action is not life, but a way of wasting some force, an enervation. Morality is the weakness of the brain.

The wolf howled under the leaves And spit out the prettiest feathers Of his meal of fowl: Like him I consume myself.