The worm stood straight on God's blood-splattered threshold then and beat his drum, beat it again, and raised his throat: 'You've matched all well on earth, wine, women, bread, and song, but why, you Murderer, must you slay our children? Why?' God foamed with rage and raised his sword to pierce that throat, but his old copper sword, my lads, stuck at the bone. Then from his belt the worm drew his black-hilted sword, rushed up and slew that old decrepit god in heaven! And now, my gallant lads - I don't know when or how - that worm's god-slaying sword has fallen into my hands; I swear that from its topmost iron tip the blood still drips!

Death's dry bones glowed with light in the erotic dark but he woke not nor felt the two warm bodies merge; the male worm then took heart and in his wife's ear …

The rosy mountain peaks laughed like high lustrous thoughts, and Helen, speechless, raised her pale hands toward the sun and joyed to feel its warm rays fallin…

A woman's body is a dark and monstrous mystery; between her supple thighs a heavy whirlpool swirls, two rivers crash, and woe to him who slips and falls!

O to be a dragon, a symbol of the power of Heaven - of silkworm size or immense; at times invisible. Felicitous phenomenon!

Our votes must go together with our guns. After all, any vote we shall have, shall have been the product of the gun. The gun which produces the vote should rem…

You can build a throne with bayonets, but it's difficult to sit on it.