I Decided To Be What Crime Made

Limited By The World, Which I Oppose, Jagged By It, I Shall Be All The More Handsome And Sparkling As The Angles Which Wound Me And Give Me Shape Are More Acute And The Jagging More Cruel.

I Could Not Take Lightly The Idea That People Made Love Without Me.

Added To The Moral Solitude Of The Murderer Comes The Solitude Of The Artist, Which Can Acknowledge No Authority, Save That Of Another Artist.

When We See Life, We Call It Beautiful. When We See Death, We Call It Ugly. But It Is More Beautiful Still To See Oneself Living At Great Speed, Right Up To The Moment Of Death.

Would Hamlet Have Felt The Delicious Fascination Of Suicide If He Hadn't Had An Audience, And Lines To Speak?