Insanity is relative. It depends on who has who locked in what cage.

I'll be damned if death wears my sadness for glad rags.

Kerosene," he said, because the silence had lengthened, "is nothing but perfume to me.

That's life for you," said MacDunn. "Someone always waiting for someone who never comes home. Always someone loving some thing more than that thing loves them. And after a while you want to destroy whatever that thing is, so it can't hurt you no more.

Let the world burn through you. Throw the prism light, white hot, on paper.

How talented was death. How many expressions and manipulations of hand, face, body, no two alike.

There must be something in books, something we can’t imagine, to make a woman stay in a burning house; there must be something there. You don’t stay for nothing.