Upon the demon-ridden pilgrimage of human life, what next I wonder.

The very madness of the scheme protects it.

Words are the most subtle symbols which we possess and our human fabric depends on them.

The sending of a letter constitutes a magical grasp upon the future.

Art is the final cunning of the human soul which would rather do anything than face the gods.

Only love has clear vision. Hatred has cloudy vision. When we hate we know not what we do.

The bicycle is the most civilized conveyance known to man. Other forms of transport grow daily more nightmarish. Only the bicycle remains pure in heart.