... And The Very Folds Of The

The Man Who Was Once Starved May Revenge Himself Upon The World Not By Stealing Just Once, Or By Stealing Only What He Needs, But By Taking From The World An Endless Toll In Payment Of Something Irreplaceable, Which Is The Lost Faith.

Houses Turn To Corpses Overnight When We Cease To Live And Love In Them.

Something Is Always Born Of Excess: Great Art Was Born Of Great Terror, Great Loneliness, Great Inhibitions, Instabilities, And It Always Balances Them.

Age Does Not Protect You From Love. But Love, To Some Extent, Protects You From Age.

The Creative Personality Never Remains Fixed On The First World It Discovers. It Never Resigns Itself To Anything.