Then, only then would she realize that the life that she created will extinguish with nothing to offer but the sorrow that she harvested in our souls and the holes that she dug in our hearts.

I cry often. I cry and cleanse my face with my tears and swim to the center of it all. A center that I have written about a thousand times, forever etched into the porcelain.

I kiss the soil as if it is the last time I will recognize the beauty she has given the trees.

We make our own music. We paint our own future.

I would give my heart to the religious so that they may realize that god hates us all.

I want to towel off, leave my heart on this beach and walk the sand into a lake of stars, while never looking back.

I sense him smiling and laughing and looking at me with eyes of a thousand aborted children coming back to rightfully claim their life, to claim the earth.

Sadness is a moment in which the world took something from you. Depression is a lifetime of torment no matter what is said or done.

I rise from the moist crevice of thought, I beat on the shores of her holy body, I fall from the sky in silver sheets of sadness. Rise onto me my precious sun.

Her eyes burn like a match head striking my flesh with ferocity and precision to ignite the night with a divinorum induced dream.

Caress me sister wind and stop this hate.

Your strength as a rationalist is your ability to be more confused by fiction than by reality. If you are equally good at explaining any outcome, you have zero knowledge.

I want to make someone walk straight, but I've left my sons nothing but wars.

When you do your first book, you're just like, "This is my work." And it's just this whole other world that you throw yourself into.

As crazy as it sounds, I really think that God just put the reggae thing in me. I can point to a few things in my life that pushed me in that direction.

There are thousands of causes for stress, and one antidote to stress is self-expression. That's what happens to me every day. My thoughts get off my chest, down my sleeves and onto my pad.

I used to hang out by the food table at parties because you don't have to talk to anybody. If you do then you can talk about the food.

Pythias once, scoffing at Demosthenes, said that his arguments smelt of the lamp.

Just keep moving! we're almost there." "almost where?" Juno chuckled. "all roads lead there child. you should know that" "detention?" Percy asked. "Rome, child, the old woman said. "Rome

If I go into a restaurant and the food sucks I feel so depressed I just want to carve it in my wrist with the butter knife.

My Spanish is a daughter's Spanish. I write, but my Spanish really is very limited.