I said that however cleverly he managed his paradoxes he would never make me believe that there was more grace in a jointed mechanical doll than there is in the structure of the human body.
He replied: “It is simply impossible for a human being to reach the grace of the jointed doll. Only a god can duel with matter on this level, and it is at this point that the two ends of the ring-formed world grasp each other.”
At midnight on the Emperor's pavement flit
Flames that no faggot feeds, nor steel has lit,
Nor storm disturbs, flames begotten of flame,
Where blood-begotten spirits come
And all
complexities of fury
leave,
Dying into a dance,
An agony of trance,
An agony of flame that cannot singe a sleeve.