A maioria das pessoas não está pronta para a morte, a sua ou a dos outros. Ela as choca, as apavora. É como uma grande surpresa. Diabos, não deveria ser nunca. Levo a morte em meu bolso esquerdo. Ás vezes, tiro-a do bolso e falo com ela: 'Oi, gata, como vai? Quando virá me buscar? Vou estar pronto'.

But we are all finally tricked and slapped to death.

when I drive the freeways I see the soul of humanity ofmy city and it's ugly, ugly, ugly: the living have choked theheartaway.

DEATH COMES SLOWLY LIKE ANTS TO A FALLEN FIG

Disneyland remains the central attraction of Southern California, but the graveyard remains our reality.

I found the best thingI could dowas just to type awayat my own workand let the dyingdieas they always have.

Truth changes as men change, and when truth becomes stable men will become dead, and the insect and the fire and the flood will become truth.

We're all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn't. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing.

My dear, Find what you love and let it kill you. Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. Let it kill you and let it devour your remains. For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover. ~ Falsely yours