Artists Are The Monks Of The Bourgeois

If It Were Possible To Have A Life Absolutely Free From Every Feeling Of Sin, What A Terrifying Vacuum It Would Be.

A Dream Is A Creation Of The Intelligence, The Creator Being Present But Not Knowing How It Will End.

Don't Mix Wine And Women.

The Face Of The Night Will Be An Old Wound That Reopens Each Evening, Impassive And Living. The Distant Silence Will Ache Like A Soul, Mute, In The Dark. We'll Speak To The Night As It's Whispering Softly.

What World Lies Beyond That Stormy Sea I Do Not Know, But Every Ocean Has A Distant Shore, And I Shall Reach It.