It is anticipation and recollection that fill the heart—never the sensation of the moment.

In the mirrors of the many judgments, my hands are the color of blood. I sometimes fancy myself an evil which exists to oppose other evils; and on that great Day of which the prophets speak but in which they do not truly believe, on the day the world is utterly cleansed of evil, then I too will go down into darkness, swallowing curses. Until then, I will not wash my hands nor let them hang useless.

Love is a negative form of hatred.

There's really nothing quite like someone's wanting you dead to make you want to go on living.

I've always been impulsive. My thinking is usually pretty good, but I always seem to do it after I do my talking — by which time I've generally destroyed all basis for further conversation.

It is anticipation and recollection that fill the heart—never the sensation of the moment.

No word matters. But man forgets reality and remembers words.