La douleur est un fruit. Dieu ne le fait pas croître sur une branche trop faible pour le porter.

Every work of art is a confession.

"Capitalist realism insists on treating mental health as if it were a natural fact, like weather (and, incidentally, it is no coincidence that the mental health of so many deteriorates during the winter months)."

I do not like proper novels. In proper novels people say things like, ‘I am veined with iron, with silver and with streaks of common mud. I cannot contract into the firm fist which those clench who do not depend on stimulus.’ What does this mean? I do not know. Nor does Father. Nor do the people who write these books.