he threw up his hands and wrote the Universe dont exist and died to prove it

I really believe, or want to believe, really I am nuts, otherwise I'll never be sane.

There is nothing to be learned from history anymore. We're in science fiction now.

It's time we did something to assert ourselves. After all, we do comprise 10% of the population.

What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!--and you, Garcia Lorca, what were you doing down by the watermelons?

You can't escape the past in Paris, and yet what's so wonderful about it is that the past and present intermingle so intangibly that it doesn't seem to burden.

Which way will the sunflower turn surrounded by millions of suns?