The flames sawed in the wind and the embers paled and deepened and paled and deepened like the bloodbeat of some living thing eviscerate upon the ground before them and they watched the fire which does contain within it something of men themselves inasmuch as they are less without it and are divided from their origins and are exiles. For each fire is all fires, and the first fire and the last ever to be.

I yearn for the darkness. I pray for death. Real death. If I thought that in death I would meet the people I've known in life I don't know what I'd do. That would be the ultimate horror. The ultimate despair. If I had to meet my mother again and start all of that all over, only this time without the prospect of death to look forward to? Well. That would be the final nightmare. Kafka on wheels.

What joins men together ... is not the sharing of bread but the sharing of enemies.

There's a difference between quittin and knowin when you're beat.

Words pale and lose their savor while pain is always new.

Anything that doesn't take years of your life and drive you to suicide hardly seems worth doing.

Do you know what happens with people who cannot govern themselves? That's right. Others come in to govern for them.