You’re sensitive and caring and compassionate. And if I could, I’d spew in your face.

A hollow wind in an empty room. There is no time. There is no space.

The leaching will be novelistic for effacement! Curdle your pilgrimage! Curdle your pilgrimage!

It just has to be made to confront its own unreality, that’s all. Hah! That’s all…

Alchemy starts in the hour of the knife. The butterfly labyrinth was no accident.

Nothing actually dies here. Here, there is only suffering. Pain sustains my existence.

They’re going to make me wear the shoes! They’re going to make me wear the red shoes!

Larger. Blotting out the infinity of white with blackness. Larger. And larger and larger.

Winding, winding, oh radiant ferry!Dismember me in black strap suicide!

Vibrations. Subtle scents. Traumatic after-images. There were four of them. Five?

We beat you fair and square and you’re just not man or prawn enough to admit it!

You’re a wicked little slut and you won’t tell or they’ll put you in a home.

And no one can talk to a horse, of course, but the words of the horse are luminous doors.

The compline bell is ringing, sounding the hour of the last day of life on earth.

The stupid, high-pitched voices belonged to Hoodman Blind and Hoodman Shame.

I want it all, don’t you see? I want everything I’ve ever seen in the movies!

What we’re talking about here is a sentient street. A street that can think for itself.

We’re normal. That’s the whole point. We’re normal, decent Americans.

The quantum mesh is full of stresses. The circus is outside.

Each side would ignore the other in an attempt to irritate the enemy into submission.

Our prayers are processed and our dreams are distilled into fuel that powers the dreaming cities.

It’s funny…after all these years, I’ve been expecting the men in black…

The Shadow Cabinet! The souls of my ancestors stroke predecessors are contained within!

Sick and tired of being soft, frail, skinny or flabby---only half-alive?

I love you, Flex…all those years…Flex…I’m sorry…help me…help me…they’re…love you…

Whenever I feel a little bit down, I just think about the lovely, sensitive poetry of Leonard Nimoy…

I fight this war alone. Just me.Me and my shaving cream.

Who? Who? Who? Who is?Who is Number? Who is Number None?

A lot of the time I really don’t know what I’m talking about.

We came, we cleaned up, we left without a word of thanks. Just another day for the Sex Men.

I’m the patron saint of insignificance. I’m neither here nor there.

Celebrating one hundred and fifty years of glorious Doom Patrol action!

His faces pick up on fear very quickly and he may lose control of them.

I can’t think…thoughts like lead…earth-bound…why can’t I…AAAAA…ah…

Okay folks! Onto my shoulder and just slide down my arm like it was a slide at the funfair!

I thought it was a man, but now I can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman.

The apocalypse is all set to break through onto the physical plane today.

We’re approaching McKenna’s “Timesc-k-k-cape Zero” and Nostradamus’s Apocuh-cuh-calypse.

With the nanomachines, I can do it. I can remake the world and everyone in it.

World falling apart. Shapes, simplifying into geometrical solids, grids, abstract formulae.

If you want to destroy a people, first destroy its dreams.

Lights! My head’s full of lights! Help me, Cliff! They’re dragging me down!

Oppenheimer, I am death. He saw my light, a million candles, the death of all things.

Boyhood summer sun through the window / Saddest and most perfect day / Going out

There is a better world.Well…there must be.