Through the machineries of greed, pettiness, and the abuse of power, love occurs.

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Shall I project a world?

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Though it is not often that death is so clearly told to fuck off.

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There is nothing so loathsome as a sentimental surrealist.

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They're in love. Fuck the war.

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It all comes down, as it must, to the desires of individual men. Oh, and women too of course, bless their empty little heads.

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A screaming comes across the sky.

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Paranoids are not paranoid because they're paranoid, but because they keep putting themselves, fucking idiots, deliberately into paranoid situations.

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You may never get to touch the Master, but you can tickle his creatures.

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Keep cool but care.

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