I do not understand the capricious lewdness of the sleeping mind.

Literature has been the salvation of the damned, literature has inspired and guided lovers, routed despair and can perhaps in this case save the world.

Without a reader, I cannot write. It's like a kiss: they cannot be done alone.

How can a people who do not mean to understand death hope to understand love, and who will sound the alarm?

Fear tastes like a rusty knife and do not let her into your house.

Avoid kneeling in unheated stone churches. Ecclesiastical dampness causes prematurely grey hair.

Then it is dark; it is a night where kings in golden suits ride elephants over the mountains.