I took a straight picture that made me look like a thirty-year-old Italian who'd kill anybody who said something against his mother.

The beauty of things must be that they end.

Go moan for man. It's the pathos of people that gets us down, all the lovers in this dream.

What is he aching to do? What are we all aching to do? What do we want?” She didn’t know. She yawned. She was sleepy. It was too much. Nobody could tell. Nobody would ever tell. It was all over. She was eighteen and most lovely, and lost.

fear life but don't die, your alone, everybody's alone, oh Cody Pomeray you can't win you can't lose all is ephemeral all is hurt

We lay on our backs looking at the ceiling and wondering what God had wrought when he made life so sad and disinclined.

A man who allows wild passion to arise within, himself burns his heart, then after burning adds the wind that thereto which ignites the fire again, or not, as the case may be.