And, Drunk With My Own Madness, I

Je Sais La Douleur Est La Noblesse Unique O U' Ne Mordront Jamais La Terre Et Les Enfers. I Know That Pain Is The One Nobility Upon Which Hell Itself Cannot Encroach.

Finer Than Any Sand Are Dusts Of Gold That Gleam, Vague Starpoints, In The Mystic Iris Of Their Eyes.

Nature... Is Nothing But The Inner Voice Of Self-interest.

Evil Comes Up Softly Like A Flower.

A Work Of Art Should Be Like A Well-planned Crime.