I assumed everything bad in the world could happen, because everything bad in the world already did happen.

I have a meanness inside me, real as an organ. Slit me at my belly and it might slide out, meaty and dark, drop on the floor so you could stomp on it.

Friends see most of each other’s flaws. Spouses see every awful last bit.

Dark sides are important. They should be nurtured like nasty black orchids.

The face you give the world tells the world how to treat you.

Love makes you want to be a better man. But maybe love, real love, also gives you permission to just be the man you are.

My mother had always told her kids: if you're about to do something, and you want to know if it's a bad idea, imagine seeing it printed in the paper for all the world to see.

I was not a lovable child, and I'd grown into a deeply unlovable adult. Draw a picture of my soul, and it'd be a scribble with fangs.

They always call depression the blues, but I would have been happy to waken to a periwinkle outlook. Depression to me is urine yellow, washed out, exhausted miles of weak piss.

Sleep is like a cat: It only comes to you if you ignore it.

Ironic people always dissolve when confronted with earnestness, it's their kryptonite

I want to create, not kill.

That the majority of people do not embrace salvation in this life does not mean that their experiences now do not lay a foundation for a later acceptance of it.

Having a relationship with people of questionable character is like playing with a razor blade on your skin, and pretending to observe that it is harmful to your body.

There is nothing more pathetically sad than a parent who teaches a child not to hit by spanking them. Well, that, and adults who think hitting someone will solve a problem.

In an oppressive society the truth-telling nature of literature is of a different order, and sometimes valued more highly than other elements in a work of art.

People are inspired to do remarkable things to find and be with the one they love.

Every new medium transforms the nature of human thought. In the long run, history is the story of information becoming aware of itself.

Sincerity is like traveling on a plain, beaten road, which commonly brings a man sooner to his journey's end than by-ways, in which men often lose themselves.