“We have learned by now that our beauty does not count as a possession. The only thing we truly own is our legend.”

Being a man is bullshit; maybe trying to be a man had been the problem all along. At a certain point you just have to trust someone. Even if it’s only yourself.

The summer following the winter that my mother took off into something called Women’s Land for what I could only guess would be all eternity.

My father decided that there was no choice but for him to quit his despised job and take me and my brother to the beach for at least the entire summer and possibly longer.

We are renters and borrowers and, in the end, only thieves.

The world rushes through us. We are peaceful. We are as deep and black as space. Staring up at the stars, we see only our own image reflected back at us. We are infinite and we are ravenous.

Misery loves company, but company does not reciprocate.

I regard texture similar to the function of taste buds in our mouths. But in a visual form.

If a writer publishes any thing that attracts notice, and is in itself just, but does not accord with our plan

For it is the same whether you take it that the Earth is in motion or the Sky.

There is not one square inch of the entire creation about which Jesus does not cry out, ‘This is mine!’

Faith does not increase, nor does it decrease; because a diminution in it would be unbelief.

We understand hereby, that the family, the business, science, art and so forth are all social spheres, which do not owe their existence to the State, but obey a high authority within their own bosom

The believer speaks little and does a lot, whereas the hypocrite speaks a lot and does little.