Every Tear From Every Eyebecomes A Babe

Do What You Will This Life's A Fiction, And Is Made Up Of Contradiction.

Art Is The Tree Of Life. Science Is The Tree Of Death.

Those Who Restrain Their Desires, Do So Because Theirs Is Weak Enough To Be Restrained.

Christianity Is Art And Not Money. Money Is Its Curse.

Ah, Sunflower, Weary Of Time, Who Countest The Steps Of The Sun, Seeking After That Sweet Golden Clime Where The Traveller's Journey Is Done; Where The Youth Pined Away With Desire And The Pale Virgin Shrouded In Snow Arise From Their Graves, And Aspire Where My Sunflower Wishes To Go.