The monstrous act by definition demands a monster.
Speaking of fruit, I’m down–I mean, he’s down–to his underwear.
Despair is a wholly selfish response to fortune’s slings and arrows.
Crazy people. They never think they’re crazy. Their craziness makes perfect sense to them.
Self-pity is egotism undiluted, after all—self-centeredness in its purest form.
You can only call someone crazy if there’s someone else who’s normal.
I think we’re seriously screwed when the men with guns decided to help the bad guys.
I always assumed it owed more to the fact that he didn’t like me.
Poets never die, I thought. They just fail in the end.
When civilizations collide, it usually isn’t the more primitive one that prevails.
We’d stared into Death’s eyes and Death blinked first.