Photography Intervenes In A Very Strange Way.

What On Earth Is Modern Exegesis Up To? Oh, Little Lazy One! Some Red Wine And Up! Off You Go, Brandishing Your Fork, Stripped Of Ophelia's Useless Ornaments, Fire In Your Large Nostrils, Out To Rake The Muck Of Metaphors.

I Demand That My Books Be Judged With Utmost Severity, By Knowledgeable People Who Know The Rules Of Grammar And Of Logic, And Who Will Seek Beneath The Footsteps Of My Commas The Lice Of My Thought In The Head Of My Style.

We Know That The Nature Of Genius Is To Provide Idiots With Ideas Twenty Years Later.

There Exists A Black Kingdom Which The Eyes Of Man Avoid Because Its Landscape Fails Signally To Flatter Them. This Darkness, Which He Imagines He Can Dispense With In Describing The Light, Is Error With Its Unknown Characteristics. Error Is Certainty's Constant Companion. Error Is The Corollary Of Evidence. And Anything Said About Truth May Equally Well Be Said About Error: The Delusion Will Be No Greater.

No More Painters, No More Scribblers, No More Musicians, No More Sculptors, No More Religions, No More Royalists, No More Radicals, No More Imperialists, No More Anarchists, No More Socialists, No More Communists, No More Proletariat, No More Democrats, No More Republicans, No More Bourgeois, No More Aristocrats, No More Arms, No More Police, No More Nations, An End At Last To All This Stupidity, Nothing Left, Nothing At All, Nothing, Nothing.