Tell The Truth, But Lead So Improbable

The Nails From A Suicide's Coffin, And The Skull Of The Parricide, Were Of Course No Trouble; For Vesquit Never Traveled Without These Household Requisites.

Balance Every Thought With Its Opposition. Because The Marriage Of Them Is The Destruction Of Illusion.

If You Examine The Highest Poetry In The Light Of Common Sense, You Can Only Say That It Is Rubbish; And In Actual Fact You Cannot So Examine It At All, Because There Is Something In Poetry Which Is Not In The Words Themselves, Which Is Not In The Images Suggested By The Words 'o Windy Star Blown Sideways Up The Sky!' True Poetry Is Itself A Magic Spell Which Is A Key To The Ineffable.

Magick Is The Science Of Understanding Oneself And One's Conditions. It Is The Art Of Applying That Understanding In Action.

A Madhouse Of Frenzied Moneymaking And Frenzied Pleasure-seeking, With None Of The Corners Chipped Off. It Is Beautifully Situatedand The Air Reminds One Curiously Of Edinburgh.