Anyone who knows a strange fact shares in its singularity.

Love makes use of the worst traps. The least noble. The rarest. It exploits coincidence.

Power may be at the end of a gun, but sometimes it's also at the end of the shadow or the image of a gun.

Every premeditated murder is always governed by a preparatory ceremonial and is always followed by a propitiatory ceremonial. The meaning of both eludes the murderers mind.

First of all, don't mix your hairpins up with mine! You .... Oh! All right, mix your muck with mine. Mix it! Mix your rags with my tatters! Mix it all up.

They spent their time doing nothing... they let intimacy fuse them.

In order to weep, I had descended to the realm of the dead themselves, to their secret chambers, led by the invisible but soft hands of birds down stairways which were folded up again as I advanced. I displayed my grief in the friendly fields of death, far from men: within myself.