Ah$$$ the prayers of the millions$$$ how they must fight and destroy each other on their way to the throne of God.

Anything one does every day is important and imposing and anywhere one lives is interesting and beautiful.

Gratitude is an illness suffered by dogs.

Work is what you do for others. Art is what you do for yourself.

I read to see myself in other people's lives.

Rules of taste enforce structures of power.

Got to lose control before you take control.

What did this mean? Who was I? What was I? Whence did I come? What was my destination?

Polluted by crimes$$$ and torn by the bitterest remorse$$$ where can I find rest but in death?

When falsehood can look so like the truth$$$ who can assure themselves of certain happiness?