Your Kiss Is Bitter With Cocaine.

I Was In The Death Struggle With Self: God And Satan Fought For My Soul Those Three Long Hours. God Conquered — Now I Have Only One Doubt Left — Which Of The Twain Was God?

The Holy Guardian Angel Is The Spiritual Sun Of The Soul Of The Adept.

All Questions Of The Law Are To Be Decided Only By Appeal To My Writings, Each For Himself

I Have Never Grown Out Of The Infantile Belief That The Universe Was Made For Me To Suck.

Man Has The Right . . . To Play As He Will . . . To Think What He Will: To Speak What He Will: To Write What He Will: To Draw, Paint, Carve, Etch, Mould, Build As He Will: To Dress As He Will.