Then I thought: There sits two people who need to be taken out into a field somewhere, made to kneel in the grass, and then shot in the back of the head, execution style. Then, skinned, their hides tanned and branded with a description of their crimes. Then, their empty flesh placed high on a pike for everyone to see until they rot in the sun and rain and are pecked apart by birds and devoured by necropaghi.

Now you don't have your fucking ugly purses, or your twenty-four hundred dollars anymore! So, shut-up and eat your fucking breakfast, or your smoked-meat, or w…

Abstraction is an exercise in a pre-assured failure. It is a futile attempt to communicate the non-communicable.

None of them rhymed much I don't think. Well, perhaps a few did. I can't quite be sure now. I think I wrote most of them while I was stoned.

Goddamn the whole friggin' world but you, Carlotta!

Bella Swan: I hate you, Jacob Black.

'If somebody told me I only had an hour to live, I'd spend it choking a white man. I'd do it nice and slow.'