We have assembled inside this ancient
We chased our pleasures here, Dug our treasures there, But can you still recall The time we cried? Break on through to the other side!
Take an Indian home to lunch.
This is it no more fun the death of all joy has come.
I touched her thigh and death smiled
I will not go Prefer a feast of Friends To the Giant family
Let's reinvent the gods, all the myths of the ages Celebrate symbols from deep elder forests
Friends can help each other. A true friend is someone who lets you have total freedom to be yourself - and especially to feel. Or, not feel. Whatever you happen to be feeling at the moment is fine with them. That's what real love amounts to - letting a person be what he really is.
I believe in a long, prolonged, derangement of the senses in order to obtain the unknown.
They can picture love affairs of chemicals and stars, a romance of stones, or the fertility of fire. Strange, fertile correspondences the alchemists sensed in unlikely orders of being. Between men and planets, plants and gestures, words and weather.
Cinema returns us to anima, religion of matter, which gives each thing its special divinity and sees gods in all things and beings. Cinema, heir of alchemy, last of an erotic science.
The world becomes an apparently infinite, yet possibly finite, card game. Image combinations, permutations, comprise the world game.
When you make your peace with authority, you become authority.
Love cannot save you from your own fate.
Lying on stained wretched sheets with the bleeding virgin, we could plan a murder.. Or start a religion.