We Of The Craft Are All Crazy.

Why Do They Call Me Misanthrope? Because They Hate Me, Not I Them.

Such Hath It Been--shall Be--beneath The Sun The Many Still Must Labour For The One.

If I Don't Write To Empty My Mind, I Go Mad.

The Very Best Of Vineyards Is The Cellar

Earth! Render Back From Out Thy Breast A Remnant Of Our Spartan Dead! Of The Three Hundred Grant But Three, To Make A New Thermopylæ!