Never say anything that doesn't improve on silence.

Remember what Anatole France said about the dog masturbating on your leg--'Sure, it's honest, but who needs it?

Dying for love might be pitiable, but it wasn't much different, finally, from any other kind of dying.

No one forgets the truth; they just get better at lying.

The hell with "love" anyway, and with every other phony, time-wasting, half-assed emotion in the world.

You're painfully alive in a drugged and dying culture.

It's a disease. Nobody thinks or feels or cares any more; nobody gets excited or believes in anything except their own comfortable little God damn mediocrity.