Times are you say a person's b'liefs ain't true, they think you're sayin' their lifes ain't true an' their truth ain't true.

... but it is attitude, not years, that condemns one to the ranks of the Undead, or else proffers salvation. In the domain of the young there dwells many an Undead soul. They rush about so, their inner putrefaction is concealed for a few decades, that is all.

People are obscenities. Would rather be music than be a mass of tubes squeezing semisolids around itself for a few decades before becoming so dribblesome it'll no longer function.

Love's pure free joy when it works, but when it goes bad you pay for the good hours at loan-shark prices.

We are only what we know, and I wished to be so much more than I was, sorely.

Time is the speed at which the past decays.

I added 'writers' to my list of people not to trust. They make everything up.