Everything that goes on in your whole life is a result of molecules rushing around somewhere in your brain.

War is the form nostalgia takes when men are hard-pressed to say something good about their country.

The difference between the world of pictures and the world of printed matter is extraordinary and hard to define. A picture is like the masses: a multitude of impressions. A book on the other hand, with its linear advance of words and characters seems to be connected to individual identity.

The future belongs to crowds.

Only a catastrophe gets our attention. We want them, we depend on them. As long as they happen somewhere else.

Say heat. Say wet between my legs. Say legs. Seriously, I want you to. Stockings. Whisper it. The word is meant to be whispered.

What you see is not what we see. What you see is distracted by memory, by being who you are, all this time, for all these years.