It's The Hour When Night Breaks Away

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

Repudiating The Virtues Of Your World, Criminals Hopelessly Agree To Organize A Forbidden Universe. They Agree To Live In It. The Air There Is Nauseating. They Can Breathe It.

I Don't Want To Disappear.

I Give The Name Violence To A Boldness Lying Idle And Enamored Of Danger.

The Time For Reasoning Is Past; Now's The Time To Get Steamed Up And Fight Like Mad.