I Sacrifice To No God Save Myself

A Wretched Child Is He Who Does Not Return His Parents' Care.

He Is Life's Liberating Force. He Is Release Of Limbs And Communion Through Dance. He Is Laughter, And Music In Flutes. He Is Repose From All Cares -- He Is Sleep! When His Blood Bursts From The Grape And Flows Across Tables Laid In His Honor To Fuse With Our Blood, He Gently, Gradually, Wraps Us In Shadows Of Ivy-cool Sleep.

Impudence Is The Worst Of All Human Diseases.

I Love The Old Way Best, The Simple Way Of Poison, Where We Too Are Strong As Men.

Knowledge Is Not Wisdom: Cleverness Is Not, Not Without Awareness Of Our Death, Not Without Recalling Just How Brief Our Flare Is. He Who Overreaches Will, In His Overreaching, Lose What He Possesses, Betray What He Has Now. That Which Is Beyond Us, Which Is Greater Than The Human, The Unattainably Great, Is For The Mad, Or For Those Who Listen To The Mad, And Then Believe Them.