It's nice when somebody tells you about their uncle. Especially when they start out telling you about their father's farm and then all of a sudden get more interested in their uncle.

Did you see more glass?

Hell is the suffering of being unable to love.

How old are you? I asked her. "Old enough to know better." she said.

Why are you breaking down, incidentally? I mean if you’re able to go into a collapse with all your might, why can’t you use the same energy to stay well and busy?

But I'm Crazy. I swear to God I am.

The worst thing that being an artist could do to you would be that it would make you slightly unhappy constantly.