Everything Is Politics.

One Must Die To Life In Order To Be Utterly A Creator.

I Stand Between Two Worlds. I Am At Home In Neither, And I Suffer In Consequence. You Artists Call Me A Bourgeois, And The Bourgeois Try To Arrest Me...i Don't Know Which Makes Me Feel Worse.

Yes, They Are Carnal, Both Of Them, Love And Death, And Therein Lies Their Terror And Their Great Magic!

Isn't It Grand, Isn't It Good, That Language Has Only One Word For Everything We Associate With Love - From Utter Sanctity To The Most Fleshly Lust? The Result Is Perfect Clarity In Ambiguity, For Love Cannot Be Disembodied Even In Its Most Sanctified Forms, Nor Is It Without Sanctity Even At Its Most Fleshly. Love Is Always Simply Itself, Both As A Subtle Affirmation Of Life And As The Highest Passion; Love Is Our Sympathy With Organic Life.

Forbearance In The Face Of Fate, Beauty Constant Under Torture, Are Not Merely Passive. They Are A Positive Achievement, An Explicit Triumph.