A marriage of two independent and equally irritable intelligences seems to me reckless to the point of insanity.

Riding that ridge between reason and recklessness, stillness and speed, is the first, maybe the most important, thing I learned about motorcycles.

I’d felt the pop of the needle sliding into my veins, like a fang into flesh. I’d been enveloped in the golden haze where nothing is wrong even when everything is falling apart. A dance...

In a way, her strangeness, her naivete, her craving for the other half of her equation was the consequence of idle imagination. Had she paints, or clay, or knew the discipline of the dance, or...

The tyrant is a child of PrideWho drinks from his sickening cup Recklessness and vanity,Until from his high crest headlongHe plummets to the dust of hope.

Verily, a man without fear is either dead or happy to die.