To Beatrice – My love flew like a butterfly, until death swooped down like a bat.
Those people that say they want to help you are the ones that let you down the most.
This school has a new kind of spirit energy. A sense of unity and joy which you usually cannot find unless you are at a birthday party or a public hanging.
The whole world is cruel. School is just a microcosm.
The way sadness works is one of the strange riddles of the world.
Suffering is like a family dinner. It should be shared.
Sometimes it is a relief to be bored because when one is bored one is also safe.
Sometimes a story ends before it’s over with unanswered questions, unresolved plots, lingering suspense, blanketing the world like snow. Or like smoke from a suspicious fire.
Sleep is a natural part of life, like cosmetics or frivolous lawsuits.
Revenge is like making sausages. If you do it right, you can ruin someone’s breakfast.
Poetry? You’ll stop at nothing to make me talk.
Perhaps the hardest part of life on the lam is that you have to keep moving, often in a direction that seems wrong, dangerous or an agonizing combination of both.
