And if I sit in that room at the top of the house and I think about my life and if I shut my eyes from time to time and imagine being warm in the summer and I hear the bees buzzing and for a moment I truly am Alice in Wonderland, do you have the hear...
Being alone does not make you crazy, it reminds you of who you are.
A mother is an individual who'd go to any length for someone else, beyond rationality, beyond her physical body, her social bindings of state, country, her kind. That's the most horrifying individual you'll ever meet.
We never care for anyone for their own sake. We train them for the system. No one matters for their own sake. No one acts for their own sake. The system will always be bigger than you.
You'll forget your inner peace, forget that it comes from impermanence. From knowing that everything will break. And only reason can right you.
Love?' Echo was right. All destruction started from love, didn't it?
The red was something none of them could contain.
If disguise was a vehicle, murder was a world.
He had forgotten they lived with a rope around their necks - until it cinched.
The noise increased and came from all directions. There was no amount of reason to negotiate the void between sound and movement.
Metaphysically, his bowl filled and emptied at the same time. Violent and maniacal to push himself so far, he'd both created and destroyed his body's energy. In other words he had complete power, self-sustaining, self-sacrificing power at the origin ...
We have time. Fear tangled into her clothes, cinched the shirt, spiraled into the veins.
Then she loved him as she would a manifestation of herself, both silenced and wounded in existence, both everything and nothing to eternity.
Spirits didn’t notice death. By the rule of impermanence, what was meant to break simply broke, and there was only the next breaking and the next.
When I was your age, art was a lonely thing: no galleries, no collecting, no critics, no money. We didn't have mentors. We didn't have parents. We were alone. But it was a great time, because we had nothing to lose and a vision to gain.
Everything worthwhile ends. We are in the perpetual process now: creation, maturation, cessation.
Everyone likes everything nowadays. They like the television and the phonograph and the shampoo and the soda pop and the Cracker Jack. Everything becomes everything else and it's all nice and pretty and LIKABLE. Everything is fun in the sun! Where's ...
The dead are not always so dumb as you think, it takes much more to die than you would believe.
Her own vague red trail created a livid atmosphere. She was like an avalanche and they were her nostalgia.
What is damage but forcing yourself, memories of yourself, onto someone else? Coloring someone else’s body. In reality, it’s sort of romantic. It’s why we love to hurt each other.
