With Wine, Poetry, Or Virtue As You

I Have Cultivated My Hysteria With Pleasure And Terror.

Here Comes The Time When, Vibrating On Its Stem, Every Flower Fumes Like A Censer; Noises And Perfumes Circle In The Evening Air.

The Immense Profundity Of Thought In Vulgar Locutions, Like Holes Dug By Generations Of Ants.

Any Man Who Does Not Accept The Conditions Of Life Sells His Soul.

Even If It Were Proven That God Didn't Exist, Religion Would Still Be Saintly And Divine.