He sat on the grass, rested the carcass on his lap and bit into its soft underbelly, spilling its rank contents onto his freshly pressed shirt and slacks.

Matthew licked the fright induced sweat from his victim’s temple then bit a quarter sized piece of flesh from her right cheek as she flayed wildly under him.

Every man's life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another.

Heaven has no room for the self-righteous.

Love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love, cannot be killed or swept aside.

I never use that word, retire.

Each point I play is in the now moment. The last point means nothing, the next point means nothing.

Willing is not enough, one must apply.

The dark night was the first book of poetry and the constellations were the poems.

...an imperfect plan implemented immediately and violently will always succeed better than a perfect plan.

I'm older. There's some sort of seniority. As a matter of fact, the seniority ebbs as you get older.

Wherever goodness lay, it did not lie in ritual, unthinking obeisance before a deity but rather, perhaps, in the slow clumsy, error-strewn working out of an individual or collective path.