Although I Do Not Hope To Turn

Those Who Say They Give The Public What It Wants Begin By Underestimating Public Taste And End By Debauching It.

Sister, Mother And Spirit Of The River, Spirit Of The Sea, Suffer Me Not To Be Separated And Let My Cry Come Unto Thee.

Of Lovers Whose Bodies Smell Of Each Other Who Think The Same Thoughts Without Need Of Speech

Everyone's Alone - Or So It Seems To Me. They Make Noises, And Think They Are Talking To Each Other; They Make Faces, And Think They Understand Each Other. And I'm Sure They Don't. Is That A Delusion?

The Lot Of Man Is Ceaseless Labor, Or Ceaseless Idleness, Which Is Still Harder.