Oh, What Lies There Are In Kisses.

Photography Is A Witness Against The Mistaken Opinion That Art Is An Imitation Of Nature.

This Was But A Prelude; Where Books Are Burnt Human-beings Will Be Burnt In The End

The Lotus Flower Is Troubled At The Sun's Resplendent Light; With Sunken Head And Sadly She Dreamily Waits For The Night.

It Is An Ancient Story Yet Is It Ever New.

In Blissful Dream, In Silent Night, There Came To Me, With Magic Might, With Magic Might, My Own Sweet Love, Into My Little Room Above.