Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead.
I don’t hate people. I just feel better when they aren’t around.
An intellectual says a simple thing in a hard way. An artist says a hard thing in a simple way.
Find what you love and let it kill you.
It wasn’t my day. My week. My month. My year. My life. God damn it.
The fuckers. There, I feel better. God-damned human race. There, I feel better.
Nothing can save you except writing. It keeps the walls from failing.
Writers are desperate people and when they stop being desperate they stop being writers.
The more crap you believe, the better off you are.
I was glad I wasn’t in love, that I wasn’t happy with the world. I like being at odds with everything. People in love often become edgy, dangerous. They lose their sense of perspective. They lose their sense of humor. They become nervous, psychotic bores. They even become killers.
Love is a form of prejudice. You love what you need, you love what makes you feel good, you love what is convenient. How can you say you love one person when there are ten thousand people in the world that you would love more if you ever met them? But you’ll never meet them.
The area dividing the brain and the soul Is affected in many ways by experience – Some lose all mind and become soul: insane. Some lose all soul and become mind: intellectual. Some lose both and become: accepted.
I never felt right being alone; sometimes it felt good but it never felt right.
Forgive me, I guess I am off in the head, but I mean, except for a quickie piece of ass it wouldn’t matter to me if all the people in the world died. Yes, I know it’s not nice. But I’d be as contended as a snail; it was, after all, the people who had made me unhappy.
I have a face like a washrag. I sing love songs and carry steel. I would rather die than cry. I can’t stand hounds can’t live without them. I hang my head against the white refrigerator and want to scream like the last weeping of life forever but I am bigger than the mountains.