One's Life Is Peculiar To

Love Becomes The Deposit Of The Heart, Analogous In All Degrees To The 'findings' In A Tomb. As In One Will Be Charted The Taken Place Of The Body, The Raiment, The Utensils Necessary To Its Other Life, So In The Heart Of The Lover Will Be Traced, As An Indelible Shadow, That Which He Loves.

Suffering For Love Is How I Have Learned Practically Everything I Know, Love Of Grandmother Up And On.

There's Something Evil In Me That Loves Evil And Degradation--purity's Black Backside! That Loves Honesty With A Horrid Love; Or Why Have I Always Gone Seeking It At The Liar's Door?

Life Is Not To Be Told, Call It As Loud As You Like, It Will Not Tell Itself.

I Can Draw And Write, And You'd Be Foolish Not To Hire Me.