No tears, please. It's a waste of good suffering.

Three is the number of those who do holy work; Two is the number of those who do lover's work; One is the number of those who do perfect evil Or perfect good.

My imagination is my polestar; I steer by that.

We burn so hard, but we shed so little light; it makes us crazy and sad.

His body and his mind went about their different businesses. The former, freed from conscious instruction, breathed, rolled, sweated, and digested. The latter went dreaming.

To call you excrement would be an insult to the product of my bowels.

There are lives lived for love, and lives lived for art. We, happy band, have chosen the later persuasion.