I Recognize In Thieves, Traitors

Repudiating The Virtues Of Your World, Criminals Hopelessly Agree To Organize A Forbidden Universe. They Agree To Live In It. The Air There Is Nauseating. They Can Breathe It.

The Despondency That Follows Makes Me Feel Somewhat Like A Shipwrecked Man Who Spies A Sail, Sees Himself Saved, And Suddenly Remembers That The Lens Of His Spyglass Has A Flaw, A Blurred Spot -- The Sail He Has Seen.

Crimes Of Which A People Is Ashamed Constitute Its Real History. The Same Is True Of Man.

There Is A Close Relationship Between Flowers And Convicts.

The Pimp Has A Grin, Never A Smile.