Why Is The King Of Hearts The

A Manpossessesnothing Certainlysavea Brief Loanof His Own Body.

Whatever There Is To Know, That Shall We Know One Day.

Literature Is A Vast Bazaar Where Customers Come To Purchase Everything Except Mirrors.

I Fight Against The Gluttony Of Time With So Many Very Amusing Weapons With Gestures And With Three Attitudes And With Charming Phrases; With Tears And With Tinsel, And With Sugar-coated Pills, And With Platitudes Slightly Regilded. Yes, And I Fight Him Also With Little Mirrors Wherein Gleam Confusedly The Corruptions Of Lust, And Ruddy Loyalty, And A Bit Of Moonshine, And The Pure Diamond Of The Heart's Desire, And The Opal Cloudings Of Human Compromise: But, Above All, I Fight That Ravening Dotard With The Strength Of My Own Folly.

Trapped Dreams Must Die.