Certainly it constitutes bad news if the people who agree with you are buggier than batshit.

There was a beauty in the trash of the alleys which I had never noticed before; my vision seemed sharpened, rather than impaired. As I walked along it seemed to me that the flattened beer cans and papers and weeds and junk mail had been arranged by the wind into patterns; these patterns, when I scrutinized them, lay distributed so as to comprise a visual language.

What scared me the most was when my father would put on the gasmask. His face would disappear... This was not a human being at all.

Little kids are that way; they feel if their parents aren't watching what they do then what they do isn't real.

Amazed, Fat said, "She's decomposing and yet she's still giving birth?" "Only to monsters," Dr. Stone said.

A weird time in which we are alive. We can travel anywhere we want, even to other planets. And for what? To sit day after day, declining in morale and hope.

How much of what we call 'reality' is actually out there or rather within our own head?