An Oasis Of Horror In

I Am Bored In France Because Everyone Resembles Voltaire.

The Cannon Thunders... Limbs Fly In All Directions... One Can Hear The Groans Of Victims And The Howling Of Those Performing The Sacrifice... It's Humanity In Search Of Happiness.

Photographers, You Will Never Become Artists. All You Are Is Mere Copiers.

Above My Cradle Loomed The Bookcase Where/ Latin Ashes And The Dust Of Greece/ Mingled With Novels, History, And Verse/ In One Dark Babel. I Was Folio-high/ When I First Heard The Voices.

The Form Of A Town Changes More Swiftly Alas! Than The Heart Of A Mortal.