I see myself at crossroads in my life, mapless, lacking bits of knowledge - then, the Moon breaks through, lights up the path before me.

I have found, beauty is the illumination of the mind.

You can be angry and silent, but it's no use - there's no distance in the spirit - besides, my words touch you more softly than my hands.

December's wintery breath is already clouding the pond, frosting the pane, obscuring summer's memory.

That icy glass reduces your beauty - dims your fire - let me be your mirror...

When we perfect 3-D copiers and they reproduce tissue, we'll have a million Marilyns walking around with no souls.

I'm a modern mountebank - I believe in Physiognomy - after all, we are in control of our face - it's the map of where we've been.