Don't Touch Me; I'll Die If You

I Am Surrounded By Some Sort Of Wretched Specters, Not By People. They Torment Me As Can Torment Only Senseless Visions, Bad Dreams, Dregs Of Delirium, The Drivel Of Nightmares And Everything That Passes Down Here For Real Life.

Theoretically There Is No Absolute Proof That One's Awakening In The Morning (the Finding Oneself Again In The Saddle Of One's Personality) Is Not Really A Quite Unprecedented Event, A Perfectly Original Birth.

Solitude Is The Playfield Of Satan.

Nothing Revives The Past So Completely As A Smell That Was Once Associated With It.

There Is Nothing More Atrociously Cruel Than An Adored Child.