If life is misery, why do we endure it?

The American mirror, said the voice, the sad American mirror of wealth and poverty and constant useless metamorphosis, the mirror that sails and whose sails are pain.

Poetry is the one thing that isn't contaminated, the one thing that isn't part of the game.

Poetry and prison have always been neighbors.

Literature is the product of a strange rain of blood, sweat, semen, and tears.

For a moment the two of them looked at each other, wordless, as if they were asleep and their dreams had converged on common ground, a place where sound was alien.

I'd obviously never heard of the group, but my ignorance in literary matters is to blame for that (every book in the world is out there waiting to be read by me).