The Devil Pulls The Strings Which Make

There Is No Sweeter Pleasure Than To Surprise A Man By Giving Him More Than He Hopes For.

I Sit In The Sky Like A Sphinx Misunderstood; My Heart Of Snow Is Wed To The Whiteness Of Swans; I Hate The Movement That Displaces The Rigid Lines, With Lips Untaught Neither Tears Nor Laughter Do I Know.

Sexuality Is The Lyricism Of The Masses.

The Man Who Says His Evening Prayer Is A Captain Posting His Sentinels. He Can Sleep.

I Love Wagner, But The Music I Prefer Is That Of A Cat Hung Up By Its Tail Outside A Window And Trying To Stick To The Panes Of Glass With Its Claws.