The Owl thinks slowly$$$ but the Owl thinks long.

There are talking dogs all over the place$$$ unbelievably boring they are$$$ on and on and on about sex and shit and smells$$$ and smells and shit and sex$$$ and do you love me$$$ do you love me$$$ do you love me.

As for ideology$$$ the Hell with it. All of it.

One can always be kind to people about whom one cares nothing.

If women had power what would men be but women who can't bear children? And what would women be but men who can?

Excess is excrement$$$ ... Excrement retained in the body is a poison.

Without war there are no heroes. "What harm would that be?" "Oh$$$ Lavinia$$$ what a woman's question that is."

This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain.

Nothing is yours. It is to use. It is to share. If you will not share it$$$ you cannot use it.

The best days are the first to flee.