Love attacks. It sneaks up like a pride of lions or a pack of hyenas and eats your heart out while you watch.

Love is the bully on the playground who takes your lunch money and gives you a black eye in return, the arsonist who burns your house down with you in it, the witch who lures you into her home with candy and boils you alive for dinner.
BART YATES

Arsonist Down Give Love Lunch Money Playground
Love attacks. It sneaks up like a pride of lions or a pack of hyenas and eats your heart out while you watch.
BART YATES

Eye Falling Hyenas Love Watch
I once heard some idiot on the radio saying that all great art has suffering as its dominant theme, and that the greatest artists are only able to create because they suffer immensely in their own lives. What a bunch of bullshit.
BART YATES

Art Artist Color Heard Pain Save Suffer
It seems to be that loneliness is a small price to pay for peace and quiet.
BART YATES

Loneliness Pay Quiet Small
Look at Van Gogh’s paintings: there’s as much joy in them as there is pain. Suffering is only a single color, and by itself it’s boring.
BART YATES

Boring Country Look Much Pain People
Love is raw, and violent, and instantaneous. You don’t fall in love; you get trampled by it.
BART YATES

Fall Instantaneous Law Love Violent

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