The Silence Was An Intense Roar.

Books, Shmooks, This Sickness Has Got Me Wishing If I Can Ever Get Out Of This I'll Gladly Become A Millworker And Shut My Big Mouth.

For The First Time In My Life The Weather Was Not Something That Touched Me, That Caressed Me, Froze Or Sweated Me, But Became Me.

It's Only Through Form That We Can Realize Emptiness

I'm Catholic And I Can't Commit Suicide, But I Plan To Drink Myself To Death.

"what Do You Want Out Of Life?" I Asked, And I Used To Ask That All The Time Of Girls.