I am quite prehistoric, absolutely prehistoric.

I would recognise myself in each of his translations and he would feel betrayed and annoyed whenever I didn't write something the way he would have. A part of me died with him, a part of him lives with me.

We live in a world that treats the dead better than the living. We, the living are askers of questions and givers of answers, and we have other grave defects unpardonable by a system that believes death, like money, improves people.

Schools teach ignorance.

Memory. My poison, my food.

There are some writers who feel they are elected by God. I am not. I am elected by the devil - this is clear.

The world is becoming an immense military base, and that base is becoming a mental hospital the size of the world. Inside the nuthouse, which ones are crazy?