Love Is A Fault; So Be It.

Memory Is A Gulf That A Word Can Move To Its Lowest Depths.

Large, Heavy, Ragged Black Clouds Hung Like Crape Hammocks Beneath The Starry Cope Of The Night. You Would Have Said That They Were The Cobwebs Of The Firmament.

Revolution Is The Larva Of Civilization.

Crime Is Redeemed By Remorse, But Not By A Blow Of The Axe Or Slipknot. Blood Has To Be Washed By Tears But Not By Blood.

The Supreme Ordeal, Let Us Say Rather, The Only Ordeal, Is The Loss Of The Beloved Being.