As one judge said to another judge: be just. And if you can’t be just, be arbitrary
Nobody owns life, but anyone who can pick up a frying pan owns death.
Out of the closets and into the museums, libraries, architectural monuments, concert halls, bookstores, recording studios and film studios of the world. Everything belongs to the inspired and dedicated thief…. Words, colors, light, sounds, stone,...
Panic is the sudden realization that everything around you is alive.
when I become death. Death is the seed from which I grow.
Abandon all nations, the planet drifts to random insect doom.
Fear of death is form of stasis horrors. The dead weight of time.
Who was I? The stranger was footsteps in the snow a long time ago.
But you’re an artist. You don’t believe in decency and honesty and gratitude.