Religion is simply art bastardized out of all recognition.
People only see in us the contemptible skirt-fever which rules our actions but completely miss the beauty-hunger underlying it.
It is not peace we seek but meaning.
A critic is a lug-worm in the liver of literature.
Music was invented to confirm human loneliness.
Odd, isn't it? He really was the right man for her in a sort of way; but then as you know, it is a law of love that the so-called 'right' person always comes to soon or too late.