Every Wolf's And Lion's Howl Raises From

Every Man Who Is Not An Artist Is A Traitor To His Own Nature.

The Fields From Islington To Marybone, To Primrose Hill And Saint John's Wood, Were Builded Over With Pillars Of Gold; And There Jerusalem's Pillars Stood.

Every Harlot Was A Virgin Once.

If A Thing Loves, It Is Infinite.

The Soul Of Sweet Delight, Can Never Be Defiled.