It is the sheer ugliness and banality of everyday life which turns my blood to ice and makes me cringe in terror.

The larvae! The scent of young blood entices and draws them closer. There's no need to venture into antiquity to evoke the shades of the dead.

Her vice takes hold of her again, but she still refrains until some moment when, gnawed by some hideous caprice, she comes aground like a mournful wreck ruined by lust, in the midst of her own banal, perfidious pollution.

The madness of the eyes is the lure of the abyss. Sirens lurk in the dark depths of the pupils as they lurk at the bottom of the sea, that I know for sure - but I have never encountered them, and I am searching still for the profound and plaintive gazes in whose depths I might be able, like Hamlet redeemed, to drown the Ophelia of my desire.

It is the sheer ugliness and banality of everyday life which turns my blood to ice and makes me cringe in terror.

You see, the strangeness of my case is that now I no longer fear the invisible, I’m terrified by reality.

Ingratitude' is the name which avatars of Narcissus give to the success of others.