A study of the Great Malady; horror of home.

I will drop into your chest like a vegetal ambrosia. I will be the grain that regenerates the cruelly plowed furrow. Poetry will be born of our intimate union. A god we shall create together, and we shall soar heavenward like sunbeams, perfumes, butterflies, birds, and all winged things.

A sweetheart is a bottle of wine, a wife is a wine bottle.

When a singer puts his hand on his heart, it means usually, I will always love you!

Nothing is as tedious as the limping days, When snowdrifts yearly cover all the ways, And ennui, sour fruit of incurious gloom, Assumes control of fate’s immortal loom

A study of the Great Malady; horror of home.

Any man who does not accept the conditions of life sells his soul.