I love you because I love you, and if you don’t like it you can use my circular logic as a noose and hang yourself.

Every man must decide whether he will walk in the light of creative altruism or in the darkness of destructive selfishness

What if, as an act of worship, creating something meant healing and restoration took place instead of pain and frustration?

Love is the walrus I crayon with like it’s the Eifel Tower. I know, love doesn’t make much sense to me, either.

There’s no room for love in my life. My car trunk is already full of groceries, a spare tire, and two kidnap victims.

Yesterday I shat rainbows until my anus started bleeding from a unicorn’s horn. 
Ah, the joys of being in love.

Hate yearned to destroy and sought to forget, but love could not. Love strove creatively towards days that had yet to come.

I just yawned. Now that is exciting. Almost as thrilling as making love to me thirty minutes after I’ve fallen asleep.

My love for her is as nuanced as a Nancy, and I wish her name were Nancy so I could more effectively convey my love for her.

What is a genius? A person who demands little to nothing from others, but is often found extremely difficult to have around.

In reality, all men are sculptors, constantly chipping away the unwanted parts of their lives trying to create a masterpiece.

When I’m old and I brush my teeth and her dentures, I’ll smile because that is love—and that is disgusting.

Your unborn children cry in your testicles. I can hear them when you masturbate. Your mother loves me more than she loves you.

Writing is like painting. You sketch it, add colour, add depth and detail. You give it a final layer and then hang it proudly.

The best way to be unique and set ourselves apart from Society is to create. Use your imagination and apply action towards it.