Tears do not burn except in solitude.

Maniacs of Procreation, bipeds with devalued faces, we have lost all appeal for each other.

Shame on the man who goes to his grave escorted by the miserable hopes that have kept him alive.

If we could see ourselves as others see us, we would vanish on the spot.

The only free mind is one that, pure of all intimacy with beings or objects, plies its own vacuity.

I do not want to see BP nickel and diming these businesses that are having a tough time.

You are done for - a living dead man - not when you stop loving but stop hating. Hatred preserves: in it, in its chemistry, resides the mystery of life.