Most people learn to save themselves by artificially limiting the content of consciousness.

Madness, mayhem, erotic vandalism, devastation of innumerable souls - while we scream and perish, History licks a finger and turns the page.

Look at your body— A painted puppet, a poor toy Of jointed parts ready to collapse, A diseased and suffering thing With a head full of false imaginings. —The Dhammapada

Nonexistence never hurt anyone. Existence hurts everyone.

It has always seemed to me that my existence consisted purely and exclusively of nothing but the most outrageous nonsense.

The only value of this world lay in its power - at certain times - to suggest another world.

Officially there are no fates worse than death. Unofficially, there is a profusion of such fates. For some people, just living with the thought that they will die is a fate worse than death itself.

Everything is ultimately peculiar and ultimately ridiculous.

Consciousness has forced us into the paradoxical position of striving to be unself-conscious of what we are - hunks of spoiling flesh on disintegrating bones.

To my mind, a well-developed sense of humor is the surest indication of a person's humanity, no matter how black and bitter that humor may be.

No one gives up on something until it turns on them, whether or not that thing is real or unreal.

I guess it’s true: it’s difficult for men to understand women.

In my 35 years in the army I was in school for 6 years. I think corporations should take a look at whether they are investing enough in the development of their human capital.

I try to be careful not to do single concerts where I fly out, do my show, turn around and go home.

A woman who takes her husband about with her everywhere is like a cat that goes on playing with a mouse long after she's killed it.

When the coach told me I was playing, I said: 'We're going to Brazil.' It doesn't matter how. If I'd had to score with my hand, the ball would have been in the back of the net.

Whoever believes in a man is very foolish.

The god we now behold with opened eyes, A herd of spotted panthers round him lies In glaring forms; the grapy clusters spread On his fair brows, and dangle on his head.

Milton, Madam, was a genius that could cut a Colossus from a rock; but could not carve heads upon cherry-stones.

Intelligence, in diapers, is invisible. And when it matures, out the window it flies. We have to pounce on it earlier.

Enemies, as well as lovers, come to resemble each other over a period of time.