The stars crossed and The Boy wished he could have hung himself on them.

He felt like the last bullet in a gun meant for revenge, sealed with a kiss.

He sharpened his flaws and disappointments into daggers.

He hugged her tight, mixing their tears to be bottled and fermented, so they could be drunk on each other when this was all over.

First he threw out all of his records, trashed his heart and then he went to sleep.

Our heaven is their hell, said God. I like a balanced universe.

Monday: New Week

Every dogma has its day.

Rather than disliking theatre, I've expressed a preference for television because it tends to deal in its small way much more with issues and is able to reach a broader church of people than theatre.

There are no principles; there are only events. There is no good and bad, there are only circumstances.

I don't think of literature as an end in itself. It's just a way of communicating something.

The first and the best victory is to conquer self.

But why do you delay? Come, do what you will.

I cannot give up my will - I must exercise it, putting it into action.

People can be ignorant and still have loving, human qualities.