New York Is A Sucked Orange.

Murder In The Murderer Is No Such Ruinous Thought As Poets And Romancers Will Have It; It Does Not Unsettle Him, Or Fright Him From His Ordinary Notice Of Trifles; It Is An Act Quite Easy To Be Contemplated.

I See The Spectacle Of Morning From The Hilltop Over Against My House, From Daybreak To Sunrise, With Emotions Which An Angel Might Share. The Long Slender Bars Of Cloud Float Like Fishes In The Sea Of Crimson Light. From The Earth, As A Shore, I Look Out Into That Silent Sea. I Seem To Partake Its Rapid Transformations; The Active Enchantment Reaches My Dust, And I Dilate And Conspire With The Morning Wind.

Are You Not Scared By Seeing That The Gypsies Are More Attractive To Us Than The Apostles?

Every Materialist Will Be An Idealist; But An Idealist Can Never Go Backward To Be A Materialist.

There Is Something Servile In The Habit Of Seeking After A Law Which We Must Obey.