The Artist Secretes Nostalgia Around Life.

In The Dream Of Approaching Forty I Saw Myself As About To Die And Realized That I Was No Longer Myself, But A Creature Inhabited Entirely By Parasites, As A Caterpillar Is Occupied By The Grubs Of The Ichneumon Fly. Gin, Whisky, Sloth, Fear, Guilt, Tobacco, Had Made Themselves My Inquilines; Alcohol Sloshed About Within, While Tendrils Of Melon And Vine Grew Out Of Ears And Nostrils; My Mind Was A Worn Gramophone Record, My True Self Was Such A Ruin As To Seem Non-existent, And All This Had Happened In The Last Three Years.

No Taste Is So Acquired As That For Someone Else's Quality Of Mind.

Purity Engenders Wisdom, Passion Avarice, And Ignorance Folly, Infatuation And Darkness.

We Love But Once, For Once Only Are We Perfectly Equipped For Loving.

There Is No Pain Equal To That Which Two Lovers Can Inflict On One Another.