We're all trapped. It's always 1734. All of us, we're stuck in the same time capsule, the same as those television shows where the same people are marooned on the same desert island for thirty seasons and never age or escape. They just wear more makeup. In a creepy way, those shows are maybe too authentic.

Any 'artist' makes a living by expressing what others can't - because they're unaware of their feelings, they're too afraid to express those feelings, or they lack the skills to communicate and be understood.

The only person we'll hate more than each other is ourselves.

She drank a glass of wine and looked for something new to ruin with her lack of talent.

You love me. You ignore me. You save my life, then you cook my mother into soap.

What do you do when your entire identity is destroyed in an instant? How do you cope when your whole life story turns out to bw wrong?

I say let me never be complete, I say may I never be content,I say deliver me from Swedish furniture, I say deliver me from clever arts, I say deliver me from clear skin and perfect teeth,I say you have to give up! I say evolve, and let the chips fall where they may!