unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don't do it

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.

It is easy to love God when you do not even have a cent in your pocket and you are totally dependent on Him

I wanted you see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand.

The fear of life is the favorite disease of the twentieth century.

To keep a lamp burning we have to keep putting oil in it.

I love the natural world - it comes from my culture, which grew out of a people enslaved.

With short stories, the story-teller must have a story to tell, not merely some sweet prose to take out for a walk

My life is based on change. What I say is OK for the next ten minutes, then I change my mind.

I like fighting at the higher weight. That extra seven pounds helps because of energy, strength and I can focus more throughout the training camp, without having to put extra time into making weight.

It is only to those who have never lived that death ever can seems beautiful.

Poetry cannot afford to lose its fundamentally self-delighting inventiveness, its joy in being a process of language as well as a representation of things in the world.