Disgrace Is The Synonym Of Discovery.

What A Frightful Weapon Is Human Thought! It Is Our Defense And Our Safeguard, The Most Precious Gift That God Has Made Us. It Is Ours And It Obeys Us; We May Launch It Forth Into Space, But, Once Outside Of Our Feeble Brains, It Is Gone; We Can No Longer Control It.

If Love Is A Play, This Play, As Old As The World, Fiasco Or Not, It Is, All In All, The Least Bad Thing That Has So Far Been Found. The Roles Are Trite, I Admit, But If The Play Had No Value The Whole Universe Wouldn’t Know It By Heart

It Is Easy To Promise, And Alas! How Easy To Forget!

In My Flowery Dreams There's Always You. I Do Not Regret It One Bit.

The Blood Of My Motherland Waters A Magic Plant That Cures All Ills. That Plant Is Art, And Sometimes Art Needs Corruption As A Kind Of Fertilizer