You Have To Taste The Sour Urine

And In Time It Will Be As Though Men Had Never Come To This Perfect Corner Of The World-never Called It Paradise On Earth, Never Despoiled It With Their Dream Factories; And In The Golden Hush Of The Afternoon All That Will Be Heard Will Be The Flittering Of Dragonflies, And The Murmur Of Hummingbirds As They Pass From Bower To Bower, Looking For A Place To Sup Sweetness.

My Life Is In The Art That I Make, And I'm Very Happy With It.

My Feet Are Killing Me." "i Knew Somebody Who Had Feet Like That. They'd Walk All Over Him. Archie Kashanian Was His Name. He Used To Wake Up With Footprints All Over His Chest, All Over His Face. It Was The Death Of Him, Finally.

Walk With Care In Dark Places, And Do Not Put Your Faith In Anyone Who Promises You The Forgiveness Of The Lord Or A Certain Place In Paradise.

Well, Here He Was. They Could Save Each Other, The Way The Poets Promised Lovers Should. He Was Mystery, He Was Darkness, He Was All She Had Dreamed Of. And If She Would Only Free Him He Would Service Her - Oh Yes - Until Her Pleasure Reached That Threshold That, Like All Thresholds, Was A Place Where The Strong Grew Stronger, And The Weak Perished. Pleasure Was Pain There, And Vice Versa. And He Knew It Well Enough To Call It Home.