There is a man, playing a violin, and the strings are the nerves in his own arm.

Fear is for the enemy. Fear and bullets.

Death, like virtue, has its degrees.

It's not death if you refuse it... It is if you accept it.

It can't rain all the time.

So the crow spirals down through a collapsed dream and the only sound it makes in like a concave scream.

Life is just a dream on the way to death.