Beautiful things should belong to beautiful souls.

Because beauty consists of its own passing, just as we reach for it. It's the ephemeral configuration of things in the moment, when you can see both their beauty and their death.

To the rich, therefore, falls the burden of Beauty. And if they cannot assume it, then they deserve to die.

To beauty, all is forgiven, even vulgarity. Intelligence no longer seems an adequate compensation for things.

Live, or die: mere consequences of what you have built. What matters is building well. So here we are, I've assigned myself a new obligation. I'm going to stop undoing, deconstructing, I'm going to start building. What matters is what you are doing when you die... I want to be building.

...I am an anomaly in the system, living proof of how grotesque it is, and every day I mock it gently, deep within my impenetrable self.

We can be friends. We can be anything we want to be.