From an analytic point of view$$$ the only thing one can be guilty of is having given ground relative to ones desire.

She loved to walk down the street with a book under her arm. It differentiated her from the others.

My soule$$$ poore soule thou talkes of things/ Thou knowest not what$$$ my soule hath sliver wings$$$/ That mounts me up unto the highest heavens.

Where men can't live gods fare no better.

No one can describe reality. You must experience it$$$ see it$$$ feel the whole atmosphere of it.

The Devil is precise; the marks of his presence are definite as stone.

Life has to be described in pure and simple physical and physiological terms. It must be demystified and depsychologised.

Humanity is a parade of fools$$$ and I am at the front of it$$$ twirling a baton.

Criticism at its best is re-creative$$$ not spirit-killing.

Colors$$$ like features$$$ follow the changes of the emotions.