How terrible and foul to squander time by seeking money. What could be worse than giving up your existence to earn such filthy lucre? Look at the poverty here. You die if you don’t have dollars.

As if she had a magnetic force around her, I felt I was being caught up in the twisting vortex of her complex being, heading for collision like a comet being drawn into her unstable atmosphere.

Worse still is not the quick fire destruction, but instead the smouldering decay of endless days, lost in a lifeless, thoughtless, meandering of day to day.

Everything relies on the idea. The idea is paramount. The idea is all powerful. Art is the vanguard of developments in thoughts and ideas.

There is a network beneath the surface of our consciousness in which a far more powerful force flows. These intimations of the underlying knowledge, these intimations of the soul, of the Divine, are vital for the survival of humankind.

It’s that feeling like vertigo of being on the edge of the precipice, suffering the fear of the void into which one might fall. We are damnedly balanced on the thread, with the great voluminous despair beneath us and the terrible fate of knowing that the love of beauty can never be satisfied.

Without love, one is dust, in a perpetual state of longing and desire. No matter how much you love someone, if the feeling isn’t mutual, love will have no reception.

o pale moonlit eyesof ebon depth,I beg we meetfor still you make me dumband I am dumb for you,still dumb,and taken from the noise,taken like The King of Thule