A Man's Errors Are His Portals Of

Hell Is The Centre Of Evils And, As You Know, Things Are More Intense At Their Centres Than At Their Remotest Points.

Love Loves To Love Love.

Man And Woman, Love, What Is It? A Cork And A Bottle.

Every Bond Is A Bond To Sorrow.

A Wild Angel Had Appeared To Him, The Angel Of Mortal Youth And Beauty, An Envoy From The Fair Courts Of Life, To Throw Open Before Him In An Instant Of Ecstasy The Gates Of All The Ways Of Error And Glory.