You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake... This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time.

With a gun barrel between your teeth, you speak only in vowels.

If I turn up suicided in the morning, it was murder.

If you start in the pit of despair with these profane, awful things, even a glimmer of hope or awareness is going to occur that's much brighter coming from this dark, awful beginning.

Sex pretty much cures everything.

Just for the record, she still loves you. She wouldn't bother to torture you if she didn't.

Maybe the only thing each of us can see is our own shadow. Carl Jung called this his shadow work. He said we never see others. Instead we see only aspects of ourselves that fall over them. Shadows. Projections. Our associations. The same way old painters would sit in a tiny dark room and trace the image of what stood outside a tiny window, in the bright sunlight. The camera obscura. Not the exact image, but everything reversed or upside down.