Our Life Dreams The Utopia. Our Death

The True Artist Can Only Labor Con Amore.

Right Is Right Only When Entire.

That Is To Be Two And To Be But One. A Man And A Woman Mingled Into One Angel. It Is Heaven.

Thought Is The Labor Of The Intellect, Reverie Is Its Pleasure.

He Had, They Said, Tasted In Succession All The Apples Of The Tree Of Knowledge, And, Whether From Hunger Or Disgust, Had Ended By Tasting The Forbidden Fruit.