Your Imagination, My Dear Fellow, Is Worth

Love Is Made By Two People, In Different Kinds Of Solitude. It Can Be In A Crowd, But In An Oblivious Crowd.

There Are Strange Flowers Of Reason To Match Each Error Of The Senses.

I Demand That My Books Be Judged With Utmost Severity, By Knowledgeable People Who Know The Rules Of Grammar And Of Logic, And Who Will Seek Beneath The Footsteps Of My Commas The Lice Of My Thought In The Head Of My Style.

What On Earth Is Modern Exegesis Up To? Oh, Little Lazy One! Some Red Wine And Up! Off You Go, Brandishing Your Fork, Stripped Of Ophelia's Useless Ornaments, Fire In Your Large Nostrils, Out To Rake The Muck Of Metaphors.

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.