He wanted to cry quietly but not for himself: for the words, so beautiful and sad, like music.
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young ManI am tired of being used, hurt, and cast aside. It is my turn to use. My turn to hurt.
The Young ElitesThe death of a young person for no reason is an apocalypse.
Your Fathers, Where Are They? And the Prophets, Do They Live Forever?Courage is as common as young men with more sperm in their sacks than sense in their skulls.
The Dinosaur Lords