Living Is Merely The Chaos Of Existence.

However, As Words Become Particularized, And As Men Begin - In However Small A Way - To Use Them In Personal, Arbitrary Ways, So Their Transformation Into Art Begins. It Was Words Of This Kind That, Descending On Me Like A Swarm Of Winged Insects, Seized On My Individuality And Sought To Shut Me Up Within It. Nevertheless, Despite The Enemy's Depredations Upon My Person, I Turned Their Universality - At Once A Weapon And A Weakness - Back On Them, And To Some Extent Succeeded In Using Words To Universalize To My Own Individuality.

When People Concentrate On The Idea Of Beauty, They Are, Without Realizing It, Confronted With The Darkest Thoughts That Exist In This World. That, I Suppose, Is How Human Beings Are Made.

It Seems To Me That Before The Photograph Can Exist As Art It Must, By Its Very Nature Choose Whether It Is To Be A Record Or A Testimony.

The Only People In This World I Really Trust Are My Fans - Even If They Do Forget You So Fast.

...of All The Kinds Of Decay In This World, Decadent Purity Is The Most Malignant.