Fraternity Has Subtleties.

Without Madness What Is Man But A Wholesome Beast, Postponed Corpse That Begets?

The Slope Takes You To The Windmill, But Effort Takes You Nowhere.

And, Like The Great Damned Souls, I Shall Always Feel That Thinking Is Worth More Than Living.

My Happiest Hours Are Those In Which I Think Nothing, Want Nothing, When I Do Not Even Dream, But Lose Myself In Some Spurious Vegetable Torpor, Moss Growing On The Surface Of Life. Without A Trace Of Bitterness I Savour My Absurd Awareness Of Being Nothing, A Mere Foretaste Of Death And Extinction.

Your Poems Are Of Interest To Mankind; Your Liver Isn't. Drink Till You Write Well And Feel Sick. Bless Your Poems And Be Damned To You.