Love Me. Love My Umbrella.

Her Lips Touched His Brain As They Touched His Lips, As Though They Were A Vehicle Of Some Vague Speech And Between Them He Felt An Unknown And Timid Preasure, Darker Than The Swoon Of Sin, Softer Than Sound Or Odor.

Death, A Cause Of Terror To The Sinner, Is A Blessed Moment For Him Who Has Walked In The Right Path.

A Man's Errors Are His Portals Of Discovery.

Shut Your Eyes And See.

I Am Not Likely To Die Of Bashfulness But Neither Am I Prepared To Be Crucified To Attest The Perfection Of My Art. I Dislike To Hear Of Any Stray Heroics On The Prowl For Me.