When you are there, you are. With words, you aren't.

Sometimes my heart hurts so much, I beat it with my fists. I try to run. But you cannot run from this. It waits for you. Even when you think you have escaped it, it is there.

I could be with a woman in a bed, for weeks even, and it would seem to me like three seconds. Or 300 years.

I am your fairy tale. Your dream. Your wishes and desires, and I am your thirst and your hunger and your food and your drink.

Once, I took a taxi. I hate those limousines. They stink and their drivers have been driving dead people to the cemeteries.

It is true what Rimbaud said; If you think a book is strong enough, try it at the ocean, in the wind, at the waves. If the book can resist the ocean, then it exists. Otherwise, throw it away.

I am dying of hunger.