TD Rool

Chaos is what killed the dinosaurs, darling.

The only place different social types can genuinely get along with each other is in Heaven.

Society nods its head at any horror the American teenager can think to bring upon itself.

You say 'to-may-toe,' I say 'to-mah-toe.'

Now that you're dead, what are you gonna do with your life?

I'd rather be hated for who I am, than loved for who I am not.

Thank you for the tragedy. I need it for my art.

The duty of youth is to challenge corruption.

Wanting to be someone else is a waste of who you are.

They laugh at me because I'm different; I laugh at them because they're all the same.

The worst crime is faking it.

I'm just a spokesman for myself. It just so happens that there's a bunch of people that are concerned with what I have to say.

I definitely feel closer to the feminine side of the human than I do the male – or the American idea of what a male is supposed to be.

I find myself sometimes making things hard for myself so I can still have a little bit of anger.

Friends are nothing but a known enemy.

It is not down on any map; true places never are.

Better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian.

I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote. I love to sail forbidden seas, and land on barbarous coasts.

Who ain't a slave? Tell me that.

Meditation and water are wedded for ever.

All men live enveloped in whale-lines. All are born with halters round their necks; but it is only when caught in the swift, sudden turn of death, that mortals realize the silent, subtle, ever-present perils of life.

There is a wisdom that is woe; but there is a woe that is madness.

Heaven have mercy on us all—Presbyterians and Pagans alike—for we are all somehow dreadfully cracked about the head, and sadly need mending.

I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will, I'll go to it laughing.

All visible objects, man, are but as pasteboard masks. But in each event—in the living act, the undoubted deed—there, some unknown but still reasoning thing puts forth the mouldings of its features from behind the unreasoning mask. If man will strike, strike through the mask!

Talk not to me of blasphemy, man; I'd strike the sun if it insulted me.

All my means are sane, my motive and my object mad.

Who's over me? Truth hath no confines.

I am past scorching; not easily canst thou scorch a scar.

There are certain queer times and occasions in this strange mixed affair we call life when a man takes this whole universe for a vast practical joke, though the wit thereof he but dimly discerns, and more than suspects that the joke is at nobody's expense but his own.