My hatred is a thousand times more powerful than all your good intentions.

Negative opinions about me don't faze me unless I respect the person giving the opinion, which is rare. And if it's someone I respect, I usually take heed of what they're saying. But if I don't respect them, which I usually don't, what's the point?

One of the greatest pleasures I get from my measly professional career is confusing people.

One day scientists will more fully understand the chemistry and neuro-circuitry that differentiates love from lust. I couldn't begin to explain the mechanics, but I know that they feel differently.

I believe that to some degree there are situational and psychological laws of cause-and-effect, but I don't believe there's some Über-soul who doles out "justice."

When I write, I strain with every wizened fibre of my weathered frame to analyze every possible angle of any given subject.

I don't regret any of my transgressions, because I believe I paid for them a million times over.