When the State withers, humanity flowers.

Laugh and the world laughs with you, snore and you sleep alone.

It's always good to remember where you come from and celebrate it. To remember where you come from is part of where you're going.

Literature is all, or mostly, about sex.

I conclude that there is as much sense in nonsense as there is nonsense in sense.

Life is, of course, terrible.

The trombones crunched redgold under my bed, and behind my gulliver the trumpets three-wise silverflamed, and there by the door the timps rolling through my guts and out again crunched like candy thunder. Oh, it was wonder of wonders. And then, a bird of like rarest spun heavenmetal, or like silvery wine flowing in a spaceship, gravity all nonsense now, came the violin solo above all the other strings, and those strings were like a cage of silk around my bed. Then flute and oboe bored, like worms of like platinum, into the thick thick toffee gold and silver. I was in such bliss, my brothers.