My flesh looked like it wasn't trying. It looked like it hated being part of me.

Understand me. I’m not like an ordinary world. I have my madness, I live in another dimension and I do not have time for things that have no soul.

The problem with the world is that the intelligent people are full of doubts, while the stupid ones are full of confidence.

Can you remember who you were, before the world told you who you should be?

People are strange: They are constantly angered by trivial things, but on a major matter like totally wasting their lives, they hardly seem to notice.

Find what you love and let it kill you.

If something burns your soul with purpose and desire, it’s your duty to be reduced to ashes by it. Any other form of existence will be yet another dull book in the library of life.

Love is a fog that burns with the first daylight of reality.

Sometimes I feel as if we are all trapped in a movie. We know our lines, where to walk, how to act, only there is no camera. Yet, we can't break out of the movie. And it's a bad one.

You have to die a few times before you can really live.

I stopped looking for a Dream Girl, I just wanted one that wasn't a nightmare.

A prose that is altogether alive demands something of the reader that the ordinary novel reader is not prepared to give.

Relate to the fear, not just from it. (50)

Doesn't this place give you the creeps? You could perhaps do something with some floral wallpaper and a fire-bomb.

I've learned how to look at things and not judge them, but respect them and use it in a way that people understand that I respect them, show them love and respect their reality.

No fairer destiny could be allotted to any physical theory than that it should of itself point out the way to the introduction of a more comprehensive theory, in which it lives on as a limiting case.

What's the point in wasting a perfectly good brick wall when you have someone to throw against it, that's what I always say.

Did Brother Zachariah just steal our cat?

Not gods, nor men, nor even booksellers have put up with poets' being second-rate.

Just washed, How chill The white leeks!

I wouldn't necessarily have been making books about how to make comics if I'd really felt I knew how to make comics.