Genius Is Simply Childhood, Rediscovered By An

Ascend Beyond The Sickly Atmosphere To A Higher Plane, And Purify Yourself By Drinking As If It Were Ambrosia The Fire That Fills And Fuels Emptiness. Free From The Futile Strivings And The Cares Which Dim Existence To A Realm Of Mist, Happy Is He Who Wings An Upward Way On Mighty Pinions To The Fields Of Light; Whose Thoughts Like Larks Spontaneously Rise Into The Morning Sky; Whose Flight, Unchecked, Outreaches Life And Readily Comprehends The Language Of Flowers And Of All Mute Things.

Dancing Can Reveal All The Mystery That Music Conceals.

I Am A Cemetery By The Moon Unblessed.

A Frenzied Passion For Art Is A Canker That Devours Everything Else.

Evil Is Done Without Effort, Naturally, It's Destiny; Good Is Always The Product Of Skill.