nothing can save you except writing. it keeps the walls from failing.

how can you be true and kind at the same time? how?

I only want sweet peace and kindliness when I awaken -- but there's always some finger pointing, telling me some terrible deed I committed during the night. It seems I make a lot of mistakes and it seems that I am not allowed any.

It’s when you hide things that you choke on them.

I drive around the streets an inch away from weeping, ashamed of my sentimentality and possible love.

Look, let me put it this way: with me, you’re number one and there isn’t even a number two.

We are Born like this Into this Into these carefully mad wars Into the sight of broken factory windows of emptiness Into bars where people no longer speak to each other Into fist fights that end as shootings and knifings Born into this Into hospitals which are so expensive that it’s cheaper to die Into lawyers who charge so much it’s cheaper to plead guilty Into a country where the jails are full and the madhouses closed Into a place where the masses elevate fools into rich heroes