In the kitchens of love, after all, vice is like the pepper in a good sauce; it brings out the flavor, it’s indispensable.

Since life consists of madness spiked with lies, the farther you are from each other the more lies you can put into it and the happier you'll be. That's only natural and normal. Truth is inedible.

All in all, death is something like marriage.

Well, you know... experience is a muffled lantern that throws light only on the bearer...it's incommunicable.

There is no rest for the humble except in despising the great, whose only thought of the people is inspired by self-interest or sadism.

There's a point of poverty at which the spirit isn't with the body all the time. It finds the body really too unbearable. So it's almost as if you were talking to the soul itself. And a soul's not properly responsible.

In circumstances of real tragedy you see things straight away...past, present, and future together.