Stirless, I stand at the window, and in the black bowl of the sky glows like a golden drop of honey the mellow moon

My little cup brims with tiddles.

In reading, one should notice and fondle details.

Solitude is the playfield of Satan.

Remembrance, like Rembrandt, is dark but festive. Remembered ones dress up for the occasion and sit still. Memory is a photo-studio de luxe on an infinite Fifth Power Avenue.

Art at its greatest is fantastically deceitful and complex.

If he was silent I could be silent too. Indeed, I could very well do with a little rest in this subdued, frightened-to-death rocking chair, before I drove to wherever the beast's lair was - and then pulled the pistol's foreskin back, and then enjoyed the orgasm of the crushed trigger.