Anyone can escape into sleep, we are all geniuses when we dream, the butcher's the poet's equal there

You are done for - a living dead man - not when you stop loving but stop hating. Hatred preserves in it, in its chemistry, resides the "mystery" of life

Reason is a whore, surviving by simulation, versatility, and shamelessness.

Criticism is a misconception: we must read not to understand others but to understand ourselves

No one recovers from the disease of being born, a deadly wound if there ever was one