When I am happy I am irreverent towards God. When I am unhappy I revere animals.

The realization that I vacillate between happily shaking my fists at the heavens and tearfully praying in the direction of the Earth seems to me quite delicious.

Their lack of vanity reeks of vanity.

I long to go out so that I may long to stay in.

I wish to make words jealous by better acquainting myself with grunts, growls and yowls, but I am worried that I will fall in love and leave words for good.

One must know one’s shadow well enough to be interesting, but not well enough to be tiresome.

My prophet can beat up your prophet!

The problem with this happiness is that it is making a dullard of me. If I was sharp enough to figure out what the opposite of committing suicide is I am certain I could find a way out this mess.

Death: that moment when Soul gives Body the slip, and Body gives Soul the heave-ho.

Better to have loved and lost than never to have lost at all.

Cynicism is a hangover caused by an excess of romanticism.