Civilization Is A Transient Sickness.

Poetry Is Not A Civilizer, Rather The Reverse, For Great Poetry Appeals To The Most Primitive Instincts.

Does It Matter Whether You Hate Yourself? At Least Love Your Eyes That Can See, Your Mind That Can Hear The Music, The Thunder Of The Wings.

We Have To Live Like People In A Web Of Knives, We Mustn't Reach Out Our Hands Or We Get Them Gashed.

Meteors Are Not Needed Less Than Mountains: Shine, Perishing Republic.

Truly Men Hate The Truth; They'd Liefer Meet A Tiger On The Road.