Kill Me, Or You Are A Murderer.

What Am I Doing Here In This Endless Winter?

In Argument Similes Are Like Songs In Love; They Describe Much, But Prove Nothing.

If The Literature We Are Reading Does Not Wake Us, Why Then Do We Read It? A Literary Work Must Be An Ice-axe To Break The Sea Frozen Inside Us.

You Are At Once Both The Quiet And The Confusion Of My Heart.

The Ulterior Motives With Which You Absorb And Assimilate Evil Are Not Your Own But Those Of Evil. The Animal Wrests The Whip From Its Master And Whips Itself In Order To Become Master, Not Knowing That This Is Only A Fantasy Produced By A New Knot In The Master's Whiplash.