If a poet has any obligation toward society, it is to write well. Being in the minority, he has no other choice. Failing this duty, he sinks into oblivion. Society, on the other hand, has no obligation toward the poet. A majority by definition, society thinks of itself as having other options than reading verses, no matter how well written. Its failure to do so results in its sinking to that level of locution at which society falls easy prey to a demagogue or a tyrant. This is society's own equivalent of oblivion.

I'm not trying to be ridiculous or funny, but it was rather pleasant to find yourself in isolation, in solitary.

When the eye fails to find beauty-alias solace-it commands the body to create it, or, failing that, adjusts itself to perceive virtue in ugliness.

In the end, like the Almighty Himself, we make everything in our image, for want of a more reliable model; our artifacts tell more about ourselves than our confessions.

Racism? But isn't it only a form of misanthropy?

On the whole, love comes with the speed of light; separation, with that of sound.

If one's fated to be born in Caesar's Empire, let him live aloof, provincial, by the seashore.