“Out of the sad sack of sad shit that was my life, I made a wordhouse.”
“Money is sad shit”
“I go to bed with horror on my wings. In my pillow is sad comforts. Like my mother says, 'On essaye a s'y prendre, pi sa travaille pas' (We try to manage, and it turns out shit).”
“Weeping willows remind me of summer. And sadness. I wonder if tissues are made out of their trunks.”
“I am...sad and angry. Why is my spirit so sad and angry? I look back at my life and all I can remember is rage and rage and rage.”
“This was the way the night had cashed in. Choices had been made and things happened, and here we were. It was sad, and funny. My life was made of this. Stuff like this.”