People Never Believe In Volcanoes

A Soul Is But The Last Bubble Of A Long Fermentation In The World.

We Crave Support In Vanity, As We Do In Religion, And Never Forgive Contradictions In That Sphere.

Nothing Can Be Lower Or More Wholly Instrumental Than The Substance And Cause Of All Things.

Our Knowledge Is A Torch Of Smoky Pine That Lights The Pathway But One Step Ahead Across A Void Of Mystery And Dread.

Poetry Is An Attenuation, A Rehandling, An Echo Of Crude Experience; It Is Itself A Theoretic Vision Of Things At Arm's Length.