On Sorrow Floats Laughter.

When Satan's Not In The Mood, Virtue Triumphs. Hasn't Even Satan A Right Not To Be In The Mood Once In A While?

What Can You Say About A Guy Who Lets Himself Be Saddled With A Baby When He's Thirty-five And Losing His Hair? Love? Forget About That Till You're Past Seventy, And By Then The Parts Will Have Stopped Working Anyway.

There Must Be Reasons Why We Men Are So Hipped On Breasts As If We'd All Been Weaned Too Soon.

Art Is Accusation, Expression, Passion. Art Is Black Charcoal Crushing White Paper.

I Wept When The Muse Ulla Bent Over Me. Blinded By Tears I Could Not Prevent Her From Kissing Me, I Could Not Prevent The Muse From Giving Me That Terrible Kiss. All Of You Who Have Ever Been Kissed By The Muse Will Surely Understand That Oskar, Once Branded By That Kiss, Was Condemned To Take Back The Drum He Had Rejected Years Before, The Drum He Had Buried In The Sand Of Sapse Cemetery.