But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.

What incensed him the most was the blatant jokes of the ones that passed it all off as a jest, pretending to understand everything and in reality not knowing their own minds.

My mouth is full of decayed teeth and my soul of decayed ambitions.

A corpse is meat gone bad. Well and what's cheese? Corpse of milk.

The mouth can be better engaged than with a cylinder of rank weed.

If there is any difficulty in what I write, it is because of the material I use. The thought is always simple.

What did it avail to pray when he knew his soul lusted after its own destruction?