Despair And Genius Are Too Oft Connected

No Ear Can Hear Nor Tongue Can Tell The Tortures Of The Inward Hell!

I Speak Not Of Men's Creeds—they Rest Between Man And His Maker.

I Only Go Out To Get Me A Fresh Appetite For Being Alone.

The Great Art Of Life Is Sensation, To Feel That We Exist, Even In Pain.

Like To The Apples On The Dead Sea's Shore, All Ashes To The Taste.