Had I a ropemaker to my father$$$ and someone had cast it in my teeth$$$ I would forthwith have written in praise of ropemakers$$$ and proved it by sound sillogistry to be one of the seven liberal sciences.

After all$$$ we make ourselves according to the ideas we have of our possibilities.

This$$$ to use an American term in which discovery$$$ retribution$$$ torture$$$ death$$$ eternity appear in the shape of a singularly repulsive nutshell$$$ was it.

And what is death$$$ if not a face at peace - its artistic perfection.

That is his head$$$ containing a brain of a different brand than that of the synthetic jellies preserved in the skulls around him.

While the scientist sees everything that happens in one point of space$$$ the poet feels everything that happens in one point of time.

Imagine me; I shall not exist if you do not imagine me.

My little cup brims with tiddles.

All religions are based on obsolete terminology.

Was she really beautiful? Was she at least what they call attractive? She was exasperation$$$ she was torture.