“Love with your mouth shut, help without breaking your ass or publicizing it: keep cool, but care.”

Time is never wasted if you remember to bring along something to read.

Why should things be easy to understand?

What, I should only trust good people? Man, good people get bought and sold every day. Might as well trust somebody evil once in a while, it makes no more or less sense.

Despair came over her, as it will when nobody around has any sexual relevance to you.

Our history is an aggregate of last moments.

You may never get to touch the Master, but you can tickle his creatures.

All variables are independent.

A woman is only half of something there are usually two sides to.

All the animals, the plants, the minerals, even other kinds of men, are being broken and reassembled every day, to preserve an elite few, who are the loudest to theorize on freedom, but the least free of all.

The general public has long been divided into two parts; those who think that science can do anything and those who are afraid it will.

Ills are many, blessings few, but dreams tonight will shelter you.

If there is something comforting – religious, if you want – about paranoia, there is still also anti-paranoia, where nothing is connected to anything, a condition not many of us can bear for long.

Teamwork,” Koteks snarled, “is one word for it, yeah. What it really is is a way to avoid responsibility. It’s a symptom of the gutlessness of the whole society.

It takes, unhappily, no more than a desk and writing supplies to turn any room into a confessional.

There is no real direction here, neither lines of power nor cooperation. Decisions are never really made – at best they manage to emerge, from a chaos of peeves, whims, hallucinations and all around assholery.

You know what a miracle is. Not what Bakunin said. But another world’s intrusion into this one. Most of the time we coexist peacefully, but when we do touch there’s cataclysm.

You were the best and worst nights of my life fucking while the flames lick us at least you’re a distraction from my spiritual death. You’re a god damn angel in a crack den.

I had to leave you to find me I had to lose you to love me.

They may seem like the perfect fit, for your incomplete puzzle. But they’re not the right piece.

Your ghost still haunts the empty halls of my soul.

Here I am spitting up roses in your name I hope you choke on the thorns.

I don’t wanna settle scores I’m just no longer yours.

You ask me questions that you don’t want to know the answer to.

Even my tears fall for you.