When Lisa awoke she was back in the cell on the floor covered in her own blood, dirt, and urine. And that was only day 1.

Partly I was honing my self-consciousness into a torture device, sharp and efficient enough to last me the rest of my life.

Never hide things from hardcore thinkers. They get more aggravated, more provoked by confusion than the most painful truths.

Writers often torture themselves trying to get the words right. Sometimes you must lower your expectations and just finish it.

Different people have different ideas. We need to kill them—the ideas, not the people. The people we just need to torture.

The dead are never truly gone. They linger in our minds and hearts and torture us with a malice they were not capable of in life.

A moment of torture feels like an eternity, while an eternity of joy passes in a moment. Perhaps time is naught but an illusion.

I think she broke, but not in the way I--or any of us--expected. She didn't go crazy. She became more focused. More strategic.

I’d rather have a career that utilizes my creativity, but torturing people all day long is not a bad gig. At least not for me.

I sat down to think. I didn’t want to drink my coffee, but I paid for it, so I thought I might as well torture myself with it.

Ironically, torture requires empathy, too, in the sense that one cannot deliberately inflict pain without realizing what is painful.

So,high heels weren't a modern invention. I couldn't believe women had been putting up with these torture devices for centuries.

The ultimate weapon is Lady Gaga’s music. Why kill the enemy when you can play her music and they’ll want to kill themselves?

But shit, I've never been that complicated. Physical pain gets a physical response. Everything else is nobody's fucking business.

Standing in the kitchen when you’re hungry is torture. That’s why I moved my fridge to my dungeon, where I keep the prisoners.