Anyone who knows a strange fact shares in its singularity.

Added to the moral solitude of the murderer comes the solitude of the artist, which can acknowledge no authority, save that of another artist.

In reviewing my life, in tracing its course, I fill my cell with the pleasure of being what for want of a trifle I failed to be, recapturing, so that I may hurl myself into them as into dark pits, those moments when I strayed through the trap-ridden compartments of a subterranean sky

The fame of heroes owes little to the extent of their conquests and all to the success of the tributes paid to them.

Ah those knock-out body fluids: blood, sperm, tears!

...beauty is the projection of ugliness and by developing certain monstrosities we obtain the purest ornaments.

Anyone who's never experienced the pleasure of betrayal doesn't know what pleasure is.