He was hanging by a thread; he felt as though he would disintegrate in a light breeze.

Whether nothing matters, or everything matters, it matters.

Messages on walls or mirrors, invariably perceived as more urgent than those typed on a computer.

If lost, see where it leads.

Going through her things, they came upon a note.
It said: I’d kill for a cigarette, or half an hour of sleep.

Could you be a little less oracular? It’s irritating AF.

Painkiller—what a beautiful word.

Thoughts seemed to harbor great peril, but their absence even more.

What’s really being said is what’s been left unsaid.

It had taken her three days to process his words, and now she couldn’t breathe. It was like she was drowning—drowning in air.

The trail of wreckage he left in his wake conformed precisely to the contours of his inner damage.

The black market for celebrity ashes.

To feel the beauty in all of existence, but not in oneself.

The more complex the organism the more objectionable its putrefaction.

Did you have a reason for each of these esthetic choices, other than “just for the hell of it?”
Fuck no.