There Are Strange Flowers Of Reason To

It Sometimes Happens That Pleasure Blows Anywhere It Damn Well Chooses.

As [john Heartfield] Was Playing With The Fire Of Appearance, Reality Took Fire Around Him... The Scraps Of Photographs That He Formerly Manoeuvred For The Pleasure Of Stupification, Under His Fingers Began To Signify.

The Authors Of Book Reviews Would Consider Themselves Dishonored Were They To Mention, As They Should, The Subject Of The Book.

The Carnal Contact Side By Side, From Heel To Armpit, Brings Shudders That Shake Up Nature Like The Flights Of Nocturnal Birds.

O Months Of Blossoming, Months Of Transfigurations, May Without Cloud And June Stabbed To The Heart, I Shall Not Ever Forget The Lilacs Or The Roses Nor Those The Spring Has Kept Folded Away Apart.