And One By One The Nights Between

I Should Like To Sleep Like A Cat, With All The Fur Of Time, With A Tongue Rough As Flint, With The Dry Sex Of Fire; And After Speaking To No One, Stretch Myself Over The World, Over Roofs And Landscapes, With A Passionate Desire To Hunt The Rats In My Dreams.

All Paths Lead To The Same Goal: To Convey To Others What We Are.

I No Longer Love Her, That's Certain, But Maybe I Love Her. Love Is So Short, Forgetting Is So Long.

The Road Made Wet By The Water Of August Shines Like It Was Cut In Full Moonlight

Death Is The Stone Into Which Our Oblivion Hardens.