The Future Is The Only Kind Of

To Lose The Touch Of Flowers And Women's Hands Is The Supreme Separation.

A Work Of Art Is A Confession.

Who Taught You All This, Doctor?" The Reply Came Promptly: "suffering.

Give Up The Tyranny Of Female Charm.

A Stranger To Myself And To The World, Armed Solely With A Thought That Negates Itself As Soon As It Asserts, What Is This Condition In Which I Can Have Peace Only By Refusing To Know And To Live, In Which The Appetite For Conquest Bumps Into Walls That Defy Its Assaults?