A strong sense of identity gives man an idea he can do no wrong; too little accomplishes the same.
Life is not to be told, call it as loud as you like, it will not tell itself.
Destiny and history are untidy.
The night is a skin pulled over the head of day that the day may be in torment.
Dreams have only the pigmentation of fact.
An image is a stop the mind makes between uncertainties.
A man is whole only when he takes into account his shadow as well as himself and what is a man's shadow but his upright astonishment?
In the acceptance of depravity the sense of the past is most truly captured. What is a ruin but time easing itself of endurance? Corruption is the Age of Time.
One's life is peculiar to one's own when one has invented it.
Sleep demands of us a guilty immunity. There is not one of us who, given an eternal incognito, a thumbprint nowhere set against our souls, would not commit rape, murder and all abominations.
Im a fart in a gale of wind, a humble violet, under a cow pat.
The heart of the jealous knows the best and most satisfying love, that of the others bed, where the rival perfects the lovers imperfections.
One sees you sitting in the sun Asleep; With the sweeter gifts you had And didn't keep, One grieves that the altars of Your vice lie deep.
What turn of body, what of lust Undiced? So we've worshipped you a little More than Christ.
Somewhere beneath her hurried curse, A corpse lies bounding in a hearse; And friends and relatives disperse, And are not stirred.