It's the time of the night I like best, when most people are asleep and it feels like the world belongs completely to my friends and me, as though nothing exists apart from out little circle: everywhere else is darkness and quiet.

I'd rather die my way than live yours.

Is it possible to tell the truth in a society of lies? Or must you always, of necessity, become a liar?

It is war now, and armies need symbols.

Everyone you trust, everyone you think you can count on, will eventually disappoint you.

Hearts are fragile things. That's why you have to be so careful.

Poetry isn't like any writing I've ever heard before. I don't understand all of it, just bits of images, sentences that appear half-finished, all fluttering together like brightly colored ribbons in the wind.