Flattery's Fire Is Hidden. Its Sweet Taste

To Love Is To Be God. Never Will A Lover's Chest Feel Any Sorrow. Never Will A Lover's Robe Be Touched By Mortals. Never Will A Lover's Body Be Found Buried In The Earth. To Love Is To Be God.

Everyone Has Been Made For Some Particular Work, And The Desire For That Work Has Been Put In Every Heart.

Today I'm Out Wandering, Turning My Skull Into A Cup For Others To Drink Wine From. In This Town Somewhere There Sits A Calm, Intelligent Man, Who Doesn't Know What He's About To Do!

Enough Of These Phrases, Conceit And Metaphors, I Want Burning, Burning, Burning.

The Gifts Of Lovers To One Another Are, In Respect To Love, Nothing But Forms; Yet, They Testify To Invisible Love.