The Self Does Not Realize Itself Most

As Contagion Of Sickness Makes Sickness, Contagion Of Trust Can Make Trust.

I, Too, Dislike It. Reading It, However, With A Perfect Contempt For It, One Discovers In It, After All, A Place For The Genuine.

Omissions Are Not Accidents.

We Are What We Were At Birth, And Each Trait Has Remained In Conformity With Earth's And With Heaven's Logic: Be The Devil's Tool, Resort To Black Magic, None Can Diverge From The Ends Which Heaven Foreordained.

I Am Hard To Disgust, But A Pretentious Poet Can Do It