Complaints About Reality Are Immature.

Nothing So Completely Verifies Our Perception Of A Thing As Our Killing Of It.

Literature Was Intended To Be Dangerous. Art Was Meant To Be Dangerous. Ideas Were Nothing If They Were Not Dangerous.

He Said That In A Way Being Loved Is Like Being Told You Never Have To Die.

What You People Who Weren't Yet Born Can Never Know Is What It Meant To Sleep In Cities Under Silent Falls Of Snow When All Night Long The Only Sounds You Heard Were Dogs That Parked At Trains That Passed So Far Away They Took A Short Cut Through Your Dreams And No One Even Woke. It Was The War That Changed That. It Was. After The Great War For Civilization - Sleep Was Different Everywhere.

Time Is Light, Time Is Dark. You Either Dance, Or You Fall.