Your Imagination, My Dear Fellow,

In Our Day There Are No Longer Any Ideas, Or They Are Scarcer Than Hens' Teeth.

What On Earth Is Modern Exegesis Up To? Oh, Little Lazy One! Some Red Wine And Up! Off You Go, Brandishing Your Fork, Stripped Of Ophelia's Useless Ornaments, Fire In Your Large Nostrils, Out To Rake The Muck Of Metaphors.

Your Heart Like A Hawk-mouth In The Sun, Your Heart Like A Ship On An Atoll, Your Heart Like A Compass Needle Driven Mad By A Little Piece Of Lead, Like Washing Drying In The Wind, Like A Whining Of Horses, Like Seed Thrown To The Birds, Like An Evening Paper One Has Finished Reading! Your Heart Is A Charade That The Whole World Has Guessed.

O Reason, Reason, Abstract Phantom Of The Waking State, I Had Already Expelled You From My Dreams, Now I Have Reached A Point Where Those Dreams Are About To Become Fused With Apparent Realities: Now There Is Only Room Here For Myself.

Of All Possible Sexual Perversions, Religion Is The Only One To Have Ever Been Scientifically Systematized.