There is a time for reciting poems and a time for fists.

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).

…I realized my happiness was artificial. I felt happy because I saw the others were happy and because I knew I should feel happy, but I wasn't really happy.

Literature + Illness = Illness

In some lost fold of the past, we wanted to be lions and we're no more than castrated cats

we interpret life at moments of the deepest desperation.

Metaphors are our way of losing ourselves in semblances or treading water in a sea of seeming.