Your Soul: Pure Glucose Edged

I Wouldn't Dream Of Following A Fashion... How Could One Be A Different Person Every Three Months?

Still Falls The Rain - Dark As The World Of Man, Black As Our Loss - Blind As The Nineteen Hundred And Forty Nails Upon The Cross.

There Is No Truth. Only Points Of View.

Good Taste Is The Worst Vice Ever Invented.

Said The Sun To The Moon-'when You Are But A Lonely White Crone, And I, A Dead King In My Golden Armour Somewhere In A Dark Wood, Remember Only This Of Our Hopeless Love That Never Till Time Is Done Will The Fire Of The Heart And The Fire Of The Mind Be One