Warmth, warmth, more warmth! for we are dying of cold and not of darkness. It is not the night that kills, but the frost.

The intellectual world is divided into two classes - dilettantes, on the one hand, and pedants, on the other.

And killing time is perhaps the essence of comedy, just as the essence of tragedy is killing eternity.

To fall into a habit is to begin to cease to be.

And the angel's body was bared, and he was clothed in light so that eye could not look on him; and his voice grew louder, as though it came not from him but fr…

Forsaken, fucking in the cold, eating each other, lost runny noses, complaining all the time like so many people that we know

We are lonesome animals. We spend all our life trying to be less lonesome. One of our ancient methods is to tell a story begging the listener to say - and to f…