I think to feel this happy is to be miserable, to feel this much satisfaction is to burn.

It's an awful truth that suffering can deepen us, give a greater lustre to our colours, a richer resonance to our words. That is, if it doesn't destroy us, if it doesn't burn away the optimism and the spirit, the capacity for visions, and the respect for simple yet indispensable things.

I cannot mislead people into believing that I support organized religion. In Jesus' name, I cannot be complicit with many of the things organized religion does.

My life's been too much of a self-created vocation. And there are times when I think I've done everything in the name of defiance.

The worst takes its time to come, and then to pass.

Who knew that better than I, who had presided over the death of my own body, seeing all I called human wither and die only to form an unbreakable chain which held me fast to this world yet made me forever its exile, a specter with a beating heart?

What does it mean to die when you can live until the end of the world?