Maybe the one had to be lost for the others to be found?

Sometimes we want what we want even if we know it’s going to kill us.

...as we rise from the organic and sink back ignominiously into the organic, it is a glory and a privilege to love what Death doesn't touch.

A different and much deeper sort of beauty altogether. The thing and yet not the thing.

What do you think about America?""Everyone always smiles so big! Well—most people. Maybe not so much you. I think it looks stupid.

What’s worth living for? what’s worth dying for? what’s completely foolish to pursue?

When we are sad...it can be comforting to cling to familiar objects, to things that don't change.

When we are sad—at least I am like this—it can be comforting to cling to familiar objects, to the things that don't change.

...not to look back or feel sad about things, that home is wherever I am.

. . . is it better to throw yourself head first and laughing into the holy rage calling your name?

It’s a long story. I’ll make it short as I can.

In the world there exists no aesthetic plane, not even the aesthetic plane of goodness.

Grace runs downhill and now all his time is being redeemed.

Leave nothing for death but a burned-out castle

It is as necessary for man to live in beauty rather than ugliness as it is necessary for him to have food for an aching belly or rest for a weary body.

We are suffering. We have suffered. And we are not afraid to suffer in order to win our cause.

We've begin a nationwide effort to remove criminal aliens, gang members, drug dealers and others who pose a threat to public safety.

It is hard to be finite upon an infinite subject, and all subjects are infinite.

People that pick up hitchhikers I believe are basically good people that believe in other people and understand problems and don't judge people. That's always the kind of person I'm looking for.

I know that I'm here - I believe that I'm here for a purpose. I believe in forces of fate.

But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flower, it's bloom is shed; Or, like the snow-fall in the river, A moment white, then melts forever.