“My closet’s so full of memories and fearful homosexuals that I have nowhere to hang my clothes. Well, that and I don’t know how to tie a noose. I’m making meatloaf on a stick if you want to come over later and help me prosecute my entire wardrobe.”

“I have nothing to say of my working life, only that a tie is a noose, and inverted though it is, it will hang a man nonetheless if he's not careful.”

“I’m through with sleep! So what if I go mad? So what if I lose my “ground of being”? I will not be consumed by my “tendencies.” If sleep is nothing more than a periodic repairing of the parts of me that are being worn away, I don’t want it anymore. I don’t need it anymore. My flesh may have to be consumed, but my mind belongs to me. I’m keeping it for myself. I will not hand it over to anyone. I don’t want to be “repaired.” I will not sleep.”

“I don’t want my thoughts to die with me, I want to have done something. I’m not interested in power, or piles of money. I want to leave something behind. I want to make a positive contribution - know that my life has meaning.”

“I’m a closet sociopath. You can tell by all the skeletons I have hanging up next to my clothes.
”

“Frankly, I don’t think I could hang out with you if you weren’t the vice type of guy.”“Well then, you’ll be pleased to know that I’m still drinking and I’m still wanking to porn.”“That’s my boy,”