All Books Are Either Dreams Or Swords,

Moon! Moon! I Am Prone Before You. Pity Me,and Drench Me In Loneliness.

Art Is The Desire Of A Man To Express Himself, To Record The Reactions Of His Personality To The World He Lives In.

When You Came, You Were Like Red Wine And Honey, And The Taste Of You Burnt My Mouth With Its Sweetness.

Without Poetry The Soul And Heart Of Man Starves And Dies.

Witches Are Moon-birds, Witches Are The Women Of The False, Beautiful Moon.