All women are lips, nothing but lips.

We comes from God, I from the Devil.

The lilac branches are bowed under the weight of the flowers: blooming is hard, and the most important thing is - to bloom. (“A Story About The Most Important Thing”)

The nights were long, like the braids of a pretty girl, and the days were short, like a girl's sense. ("The North")

Heretics are the only bitter remedy against the entropy of human thought.

True literature can exist only where it is created, not by diligent and trustworthy functionaries, but by madmen, hermits, heretics, dreamers, rebels, and skeptics.

A man is like a novel: until the very last page you don't know how it will end. Otherwise it wouldn't be worth reading.

Those two, in paradise, were given a choice: happiness without freedom, or freedom without happiness. There was no third alternative.

Literature is painting, architecture, and music.

There is no final one; revolutions are infinite.

We need writers who fear nothing. ("Our Goal")

The point is, whether or not they show it at dinner parties, writers learn, by a necessity of their trade, to be the sharpest of observers.

If you're going to dream, why dream small?

One only needs to read twentieth-century history to see that it has been the climax of human madness, if it's measured in terms of human violence inflicted on other humans.

I hate this place,” Tiara whimpered. “It’s super creepy. Like a haunted Chuck E. Cheese’s where the games all want to kill you and you never get your pizza.

I'm one of those people that will say, 'My cancer was a gift.'

Slice him where you like, a hellhound is always a hellhound.

Once an absurdity is accepted as truth, it will seem truer the more absurd it is shown to be.

Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning, every poem an epitaph.

As writers, we can't predict who might come along who might find our offerings valuable.