Vanity remains a feeble weaponThe delusional wearer of it considers herself strong

I pour blood on my naiveté, your apathy, and your betrayal tonight.

No, I don't miss you... Not in a way that one is missed.But I think of you. Sometimes.In the way that one might think of the summer sunshineOn a winter night...

If a story is only what it seems to be about, then somehow the author has failed.

Getting your news from Twitter is like asking a cat for directions.

Being attached is what prevents us from seeing, it is what clouds this miraculous awareness.

More than two decades later, it is hard to imagine the Revolutionary War coming out any other way.

I think that I've had a very strange life.

Steve Laury smokes playing octaves.

I do not find in orthodox Christianity one redeeming feature.

No high-minded painter of the last fifty years has been able to come to terms with his art without coming to terms with the problem of cubism.

Shall I make it clear, boys, for all to apprehend, Those that will not hear, boys, waiting for the end, Knowing it is near, boys, trying to pretend, Sitting in cold fear, boys, waiting for the end?