“I am the color red in a world full of black and white, and if you value your ability to breathe, don’t get too close. Save us, Chris. Save yourself.”

You may call me Bray Wyatt. But I have a thousand faces and a million names. Seducer, accuser, destroyer.

I always sort of talk about – to myself at least, or to my friends, about wanting to just keep life very simple. I’ve found it most simple here in New York.

A lot of the things that I like to portray on television are otherwise my real views.

I will build my empire next to the sea, so I can laugh from my throne as my enemies drown.

Ignore death up to the last moment; then, when it can’t be ignored any longer, have yourself squirted full of morphia and shuffle off in a coma. Thoroughly sensible, humane and scientific, eh?

I think tattoos are horrible. It’s like living in a Pucci dress full-time.

In the full light of day, I don’t want to think about the sunset.

Human beings the world over need freedom and security that they may be able to realize their full potential.

That the machine of Heaven is not a hard and impervious body full of various real spheres, as up to now has been believed by most people.

The basic work of health professionals in general, and of psychotherapist s in particular, is to become full human beings and to inspire full human-beingness in other people who feel starved about their lives.

Toyin Falola has given us what is truly rare in modern African writing: a seriously funny, racy, irreverent package of memories, and full of the most wonderful pieces of poetry and ordinary information.

How good and thoughtful he is; the world seems full of good men–even if there are monsters in it.