Certainly a chair can be just as interesting as a human being. But first the chair must be perceived by a human being. . . You should not paint the chair, but only what someone has felt about it.
Sleep is for those people who are broke.
I never allowed my fear to limit me.
A thug is what I want and a thug is what I need. And my friends don't understand, and I think it's jealousy.
You gotta be smart enough to pick up the information as you go.
I'm not a gangster, I'm not a thug. . I'm just me and if I feel like someone is trying to hurt me. . yeah I'm gonna hurt 'em. . if you come and you ain't coming right I'm gonna blow your head off.
God's the seamstress that tailor-fitted my pain.
Do not be shy to call customers who owe you money. It works.
God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?
Today I had a strange warning. I felt the wind of insanity brush my mind.
Fiction is a way of exploring possibilities present but undreamt of in the living of a single life.