My Pessimism Has Never Been Flabby.

My Eyes Feel All Soft, All Soft As Flesh. I'm Going To Sleep.

And I Too Wanted To Be. That Is All I Wanted; And This Is The Last Word. At The Bottom Of All These Attempts Which Seemed Without Bounds, I Find The Same Desire Again: To Drive Existence Out Of Me, To Rid The Passing Moments Of Their Fat, To Twist Them, Dry Them, Purify Myself, Harden Myself, To Give Back At Last The Sharp, Precise Sound Of A Saxophone Note. That Could Even Make An Apologue: There Was A Poor Man Who Got In The Wrong World.

The Worst Part About Being Lied To Is Knowing You Werent Worth The Truth

There Are Two Types Of Poor People, Those Who Are Poor Together And Those Who Are Poor Alone. The First Are The True Poor, The Others Are Rich People Out Of Luck.

The Revolution You Dream Of Is Not Ours. You Don't Want To Change The World; You Want To Blow It Up.