Reality is the original Rorschach.
Rorschach: Used to come here often, back when we were partners. Dreiberg: Oh. Uh, yeah. . . yeah, those were great times, Rorschach. Great times. Whatever happened to them? Rorschach: [exiting] You quit.
The paintings usually start as abstracts and then I look at them and look at them, and like a Rorschach test, I try and see what it is.
History is a Rorschach test, people. What you see when you look at it tells you as much about yourself as it does about the past.
Once a man has seen society's black underbelly, he can never turn his back on it. Never pretend, like you do, that it doesn't exist.
It was Kovacs who said "Mother" then, muffled under latex. It was Kovacs who closed his eyes. It was Rorschach who opened them again.
American love — like coke in green glass bottles. . . they don't make it anymore.
At the very beginning, I said my life and Playboy are a Rorschach test. It's a culmination of the dreams and fantasies and prejudices you bring to the table
No. Not even in the face of Armageddon. Never compromise.
A book collection is a cross between a Rorschach test and This Is Y our Life. It marks your life clearly like rings on a tree.
The point is that (little-t) truth is a matter of definition relative to the grid one is using at the moment, and that (capital-T) Truth, metaphysical reality, is irrelevant to grids entirely. Pick a grid, and through it some chaos appears ordered and some appears disordered. Pick another grid, and the same chaos will appear differently ordered and disordered. Reality is the original Rorschach. Verily! So much for all that.
No, my friend. We are lunatics from the hospital up the highway, psycho-ceramics, the cracked pots of mankind. Would you like me to decipher a Rorschach for you?
But my dear man, reality is only a Rorschach ink-blot, you know.
Weddings are giant Rorschach tests onto which everyone around you projects their fears, fantasies, and expectations - many of which they've been cultivating since the day you were born.
This city is dying of rabies. Is the best I can do to wipe random flecks of foam from its lips?
None of you understand. I'm not locked up in here with YOU. You're locked up in here with ME.
Nothing is insoluble. Nothing is hopeless. Not while there's life.
