Something about perfectiondisgusts me.

When it's all too stupid out here,I hide in books.

O my people, whenever ye drinkA drop of water, remember me.Or if ye hear of butchered menAnd headless stiffs, surrender thee;For I am the one who lies in shredsWhere my cruel foes dismembered me!

I used to think that writing is written to be read; it isn't. Writing is written to be written.

Just let me knowwhen my fifteen minutes are up

I amMostAloneAmong people.

Just let me knowwhen my fifteen minutes are up.