The three heads of God were sundered from existence. Who shall say that this was accident? And likewise, who shall say that accidents be not but arabesques within some wider figure? Of this nothing is known.

In our solitariness... great depths are sometimes sounded. Truth hideth in company.

It was the straying that found the path direct.

Art is the instinctive application of the knowledge latent in the subconscious.

Great thoughts are against all doctrines of conformity

Give me the death of my soul. Intoxicate me with self-love.

For I am I: ergo, the truth of myself; my own sphinx, conflict, chaos, vortex—asymmetric to all rhythms, oblique to all paths. I am the prism between black and white: mine own unison in duality.